" a semi-apology to love "

---

sorry. no, really i am.

i take love into my arms and cloak my arms around love in a laundro-mat; love whispers to me softly in the still silences.

love is the greatest invention of humanity to the universe. it is in those moments of realization, that you can find the strength within you to move ahead. there's no lollygagging, no hesitation, and no regrets.

the brushing of lips, hushed sighs, the sound of skin, looks full of quixotic mystery; the eye contact which sees beyond the flesh and grips the very breath out of your corporeal being.

you see through eyes that have seen the other side of love's shaded areas. you humble yourself before it's overwhelming warmth and light; it glows inside your body and seethes through your blood which boils at her approach.

i buy love a strawberry ice cream then we make out in the parking lot.

finding a new love is difficult, and i'll spit in the soup of anyone who says otherwise. if loving from relationship to relationship is fast and/or simple to do emotionally, get away from me, lock yourself in a basement, and never come out to see the light of day again.

you remember the in-between instances that defined love for you, and begin to look forward to redefining those attributes: the way she placed her hands in mine, soft flutters of eyelashes on my neck, the sound of her heart beating though her shirt, warm, crimson, vibrations, rhythm, constant, seemingly forever.

i agree with love to photograph love's portrait wearing a black meriweather corset, garters, and stockings. i always have film for love.

the altogether vibrant sensation of love coursing through out the body; electric waves wash throughout and radiates bright and constant. so apologies love, i am often wrong.

finding that faded pair of boy-cut panties in the dryer, lifting them to your face and smelling them, pocketing them, and feeling okay about it. staring at that one photo that 'does it' every time; the oil in your fingertips eroding away the silver halides out from the weathered paper. finding a double-meaning in all of the words she speaks, writes, or emails; scanning for the secret message that will validate the intense madness of your seemingly perpetual singlehoodom. seeing her in everything and hoping to god that you'll not always be like this.

i find love drunk in the park, and i take love home, give love a shower and send love to bed.

---