Everybody Hates a Love Poem

Love is, to a large extent, a calling
To the dawning of every coming day
To the twisting turning on the way
To the waking the aching and the dismay
That must hold you to its breast
To count the heartbeats there

Love is, in many ways, a surrender
Of selfishness to the moment
Of days to an ideal
Of thoughts that wander too close
to the edge of the day
Of the body’s new beginnings

Love is, in all instances, a dream
That pours you your next drink
That paints the skylight stars
That holds you to your word
In the wooden afternoon
And refuses to be woken

June 2011

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