When I think of Love,
I think of you.
I think of holding fingers under
dirty diner tables.
I think of long conversations that
I almost never regretted
in my groggy mornings.
I think of coffee and weed,
things that convinced us we were alive,
I think of our first time:
hungry, anxious, and fervent
fingers ripping away capitalism,
until our raw goods are clear of refinement.
I think of our last time:
dim lights and t.v.’s filled with static
left on for our lack of entertainment.
I think of hangovers and angry text messages
that I always regretted in the mornings.
I think of broken fists and bloodied lips,
because sometimes love turns to hate
and people fight for nothing at all.
I think of buying a house and never being satisfied
with anything but marble counters,
I think of never being satisfied.
When I think of love,
I think of You,
and I can’t tell you how terrifying that is.