What is love but a ship sinking into the yolk of sun
After departing from shore, after reading sea’s frothy letters by lampWhat is love but a ship sinking into the yolk of sun
After departing from shore, after reading sea’s frothy letters by lamp light
What is love but a hand to catch the drips of tears
and ice cream rivulets down a waffle cone
As if summer is a Brooklyn sidewalk, a sidewinding bird, or the barista with two first names
What is love but the both of us climbing the rope of night, dreams threaded together, the net of cream, woven silk of slumber, wondering who will turn the last light off, who will fetch the morning mail
What is love if not for consonants, a stuttering sigh? an expression of relief caught between puckered lips
What is love without you and I?
a question as worthy as
what is dawn without sky? ...read more