Tag Archives: #love

Oh, What I Would Let You Do to My Journal.

I want my words
in bed
with your rods and cones.

I’m a young gun,
but I can rhyme some sounds
and I am down to go down on
some extended metaphor.

I want you
to open wide
your eyes
and I’ll do mine
and we’ll read each other
and scream things.

I want discursivity
and your fluidity
and your phenomenology
and ontology
on top of me.

Let’s talk.

Let’s have a
about your form,
‘cause it piques me, honey bee.

Get me off
this screen.
I’d love to be
between your sheets,
wet with ink.

Let’s alliterate a lot
and let lyrics lick little
liminal spaces lightly.

Let’s write each other letters and seal them with kisses then tear off the envelopes with the hunger of younger lovers.

Let’s let go.

Logical Truths

Paradox of Material Implication

If I were to love you then you’d love me. Or is it the other way around?


If only I loved you.
If only you loved me.
If you loved me, I’d love you.
You’ll love me only if I love you.

Excluded Middle

What if it were not the case that I either love you or don’t?
Of course, I love you.
I either do or don’t.
Now a contradiction: for how could it be – while not being the case –
that I either love you or I don’t love you? It couldn’t.
I either love you, or I don’t.

shoulder blades

she makes the same shapes
making love or dancing
she declares love is a muscle
you don’t actually fall
in love, you maybe
are just good at it
(or bad (too bad))
but Fear forbid you
are just (too) good at it
cause then up comes
some young stud
declaring love is one
precious little zero-sum, well
maybe if i had to wait again
to come, she said, i’d see
my love as a commodity, maybe,
but there are some things
i just don’t know, she shrugged, and
she makes the same shrug
making love or dancing


i will try to remember your face
but it’ll be sand on the surface
of the water, and i’ll rely on
dreams to get your smile right
but time will send rain
and then the paint runs.
one day the boutique will
stop carrying your perfume
and the eumelanin of your hair
will pale like a sunfaded photograph
and our relatives will begin
to die around us, still i will
try to remember your face
but it will come to me as pixels
or a monet painting viewed too close
and i will fail to quote you
correctly anymore, and finally,
i’ll start forgetting your name

the interruptions

you are trying to read a book
outside, but a mosquito nips
your ankle

(the world could be harsher:
a thousand different conditions
could be worse)

you will your attention back
to the words, whatever “will”
and “attention” are boggles you

(glass could shatter more easily,
or honey might expire, or some
apex predator may hunt you)

your book is beginning to make
sense again, and its narrative
influences your total memory

(maybe wasps are fatally venomous
in the harsher world, maybe people
are just less cooperative)

your favorite character is falling
in love in this particular chapter –
to her demise, you suspect

(it could have happened that in
this world, your father’s immune
system was too weak)

you are trying to read a book
outside, but a beetle hums near
your ear and you startle

(the world could be a harsher
place, but it sustains you in a
cradle of correct conditions)

your character is trying to read
a book outside, but her “lover” plans
the murder like an apex predator

(maybe your favorite character never
got to feel love before she died –
like a sad mosquito lacking memory)

you close your book and wonder
if “love” without the narrative that
memory provides is just instinct, a nip

(the world could be a harsher place,
but it is apparently just difficult

one unread message

used to bother me
used to gnaw at my
raw thoughts and
draw me to your libraries
where i would scroll
angrily through lists
of facts and narratives
constructing questions
faster than answers could
sate my vexations

but anymore, what-i-know
sustains me like a roll
of rye bread that yeasts
in the belly faster than
my acids can dismantle it

and i let the mysteries
tap at my window like
gentle iceflakes, their
little mathematics melting
against the warm glass
into mundane water
droplets, which are no
mystery to me


when we kissed
you tongued your gum
to me so i wouldn’t chew
my cheeks bloody and
already, both our jaws
were starting to throb
(but not from the medicine)
my neurotransmitters had
already converted me to
a hard determinist, but when
the drugs receded mercilessly
up your spine, it almost
triggered tears to watch you
realize this happiness wasn’t
your choice, your pupils tightening
around the last of the synthetic
bliss, your mood melting between
my fingers and into the ice cream
sunset, your sense of free will
evaporating and the geometries
underneath your choices exposed
like a femur breaking through skin
when we kissed
we absolutely had to kiss
like the perseids had to burn