True Love is no great thing It's more the wordless gift of a Diet Coke on your bedstand
("Because I just thought you would want it later")
than it is an epic story of heartbreak and longing
It's the hypnagogic kiss, sleepily left on your shoulder, every night,
not an ecstasy of moonlight and song
Tristan had it wrong
Love is not a poison to consume
It is white hands reaching to steady you
when you've forgotten to steady yourself
the sandwich in the fridge, the call that comes as you drive home
the feet that rest against yours as you sleep, until you can’t tell whose are cold and whose are warm
Her "I love you,” is not an anguish
It is cinnamon toast eaten by the television
crumbs brushed off the bedcovers as we change the channel and turn off the lights
Comentarios