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Poesi: dictionary

I am trying to find words to describe what I think love is but no matter which words or languages I use,
nothing sounds quite right

I think I want you to ask me about the poem I read the night before, to listen while I read it aloud
think I want you to know me well enough to understand what the poem means to me before I do
yet have the patience to let me tell you myself

maybe I want you to stay with me as I remember what I spent good time trying to forget
               despite my adamant protest about not needing anyone there as I do it

maybe what I want has something to do with the mint on my windowsill, with meals shared
and badly lit kitchens filled by laughter that’ll compensate for the otherwise lack of warmth
or perhaps it’s got to do with my cologne on all your sheets, with a part of me you’d keep
not by chance or fate or luck but rather by
                                                                                            a choice made willingly and earnestly

is this all a bit too much to ask of a person? is this desire too big to hold?
am I getting ahead of myself again, not letting myself enjoy the trail again
if so I apologize and ask you don’t hold it against me quite yet
we can stick to small talk about the dripping sound from the faucet that drives you mad at night

and I can pretend my shoulder did not burn from the gentle touch of your hand on it
I can avoid telling you I kept having to check the entire ride home to see I wasn’t actually on fire

                           most good things come from something small and arbitrary
like sand turning into stained glass windows

let’s say I’m just on the lookout for something good, let’s say I’m trying to figure out what that would be

If I found the words to explain what I think love is it would probably have something to do with being known
but that too isn’t quite right
maybe the best way to explain love will have something to do with a coffeepot left on
even after you’ve filled your own cup
                                               maybe it’ll have something to do with picking up eggs for breakfast

Taggar: Poesi, Text