Love it hard, or: One day I’ll be a good enough poet to describe you


 

Love the failure.
Lost and looking,
in the strange-scented shadows of spring.
Wandering; half dreaming,
gaps between the words
and nothing seems to hold me.
I’ve woken up more times
than I can count.
Left arm stretched out,
adrift on empty waves;
grasping at something.

I dreamed then,
but now dark things
swim up from the depths.
I remember seeing you as the ash
on my cigarette started to bend
and fall. I avoided your eyes, the two
windows; the soul and the heart.
One more distant, the other less mine.

Now, lying in the dark,
in the room we built.
the one with four walls, two doors
and the ceiling we forgot to add.
Now, in the dark
I see the stars.
And you are right.
I can’t describe you,
but I can love the failure.
I can love it as hard
as the wood loves the nail
that splinters it,
as deeply and softly as water
dissipates into sand.

Time to dream again.
Smile, smile my soul.
Shatter the heart.
This place is more real than the world

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