(I wrote this a while ago. Precise dating withdrawn to protect the innocent…)
I love you like the brush of a prickled cat’s paw on a glass window pane. You are the canvas on which I paint.
Your words are the tearing tip of a blade in the wind of a wild hurricane.
We relate like the play of fish swimming in a circle of tails. All the flit of a hummingbird’s dance but no romance.
We are the sea and the tide. You’re the thorn in my side.
You are full of magic. The type of rare beast that can only love and be loved by their missing piece. And honey, you deserve everything.
You and me have all the convenience of dating but mostly just waiting, waiting, waiting.
From the moment we met I thought of kissing you, and it was mischievous. Our tongues dueled side over side. Your energy combined with mine to create something truly fleeting.
I am the cheddar and you are the slice. A cold cut trap of my own device.
Yet though I speak of prime confection, I believe we shared no true connection.
Instead, I turned into Santa Clause
You: the dependent funnel for my affection.
I told myself it was only a sham.
I watched another man touch you, and missed my chance.
I was filled with responsibility, Suddenly,
the bother of a brother.
I watched over you. But you were never a sister to me.
And for the first time at the start you knew everything.
You were the place I trusted my store of secrets.
A complicating feature.
Fearless, You do everything flatly.
But your water runs deep, with billows and leagues
And you shut the door on all your feelings.
I won’t claim to know what it’s like for you.
I admire your wit too much to assume
That one day, you’d fall in love with me
But I might take advantage of your naivete.
Or worse, be forced to admit I don’t feel the same.
I care for you,
But I care nothing about you.
We talk but never pray.
Sometimes I turn focus from your lips and force myself to listen.
What I find is empty dismay.
It is so uncommon to look in someone’s eyes and say, “You are like me” and not hate them. But I fear we would grow so bored of each other.
If this is my second love end it quick.
But if you’re my endgame, play on, play on.
We would gladly steer our course into the typhoon
For the sake of brief pleasure
A monument to our own narcissisms we built together
And ruin my life for you.
This is no pure love.
In truth, we are only friends.
When you called me just to say goodnight.
Dressed for bed and trust
I can’t stop smiling.
I see nothing wrong with you.
My heart fills with that particular joy of choice and value
And my mind fills with “love.”
I am in a strange hell, spurned on but knowing our love could never last.
You knew it too, and ended us fast.
And now we walk among the rushes.
That’s the trouble with having lots of crushes.