This Love

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This love loosens sockets as it crawls through my blood, makes my elbows moot, and arms brown sinew to wrap you triple times in the heat of my desire

Catastrophic and apocalyptic and any other world-shattering -ics, this love crushes dynasties and leaves in its wake little more than smoldering rubble and ash

Proud and cocky, and let-me-hold-your-hand-in-the-street-so-everyone-knows-we’re-coupled-up-and-feeling-all-kinds-of-ways-that-make-no-sense-to-anyone-but-us, this love struts a mean staccato beat

And keeps me up at night, whispering poetry into my skin as Coltrane burns a rhythm of blues, and tenderness, and smooth soulful bliss into our everything

This love wakes the dead, and fills them with crave and lust for another go at this thing called life, and it says ‘this thing called life’ in its best Prince voice

Raucous and wild and so in-your-face loud, the neighbors roll their eyes when they see us pass, laden with the detritus of the everyday mundane, this love knows we are anything but

Beautiful and strange, kind and coarse, this love is memory and time

It is patience

It is you


The pieces of poetry on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. And my unending love for all things romance.

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