Thank you for being Love

Another terrible love poem...

I don’t know what to tell you:
other than the heart of a giraffe weighs 22 pounds,
and that when penguins find a mate,
they stay together for life;
and someone once told me when flies fall in love,
their entire brain is rewired to only love each other,
and when one of them dies, their memory becomes blank.

And I know this is nothing but a string of run-on sentences,
and I can’t promise the dark clouds will never hover over our lives,
or that the future will be filled with rainbows.
I can’t promise that things will always be easy,
or that you’ll never hurt.

I don’t know how much my heart weighs,
or what will happen when someone dies.
I know kisses aren’t contracts, and love isn’t a promise.

And I know I don’t love very many things,
but here are the ones I can think of:

I love the first sip of coffee in the morning,
and wrapping scarves around my neck when it’s cold.
I love the feeling a great song invokes,
and getting lost in good books.

I love listening to spoken poems,
and feeling connected to someone else’s words.
I love long drives at night, with no destination.
And I love a child’s laughter,
with dreams of one day having my own.
I love the gentleness of sadness,
and the way it reminds me how to feel.

And I love the shear interruption to my life that you have always been.
You’re the brick that tumbled my walls,
the unknown foot-steps to this path.
I’ve loved you with a love that was more than love;
a fierceness I’ve always held.

I still miss the soft timber of your voice,
and the way you always smelled like fresh linens and body wash,
and I’ll still never be able to say the word “intense”,
without picturing a campsite.


You made me laugh on even the worst of days.
You were more than just a man,
so much greater than a best friend.


I have spent so much time, trying to define love to others.
Thank you for being it.

Thank you,
for being love.