love notes

here is something

Something you did made me bleed so you are doing it good enough. We can get into that later, though.

I don’t want you to think anything I’ve said was meant to make you change. I like you as you are and I really don’t need anything different than what you’re offering. I’m someone who can see that, at least. I hope that it’s obvious that I like you and that you get to me in all the best ways and that you don’t need to be someone else to keep doing that. Just keep calling.

We Say, Reginald Gibbons

poetry365:

We say a heart breaks—like
a stick, maybe, or a bottle
or a wave. But it seems
more like the field clump
that crackles upward from a match
and collapses, grass filaments
sparking in the ash-dust,
then going out. Today
I take myself down by steps,
one at a time, into the sadness
I admit I can’t always reach.
There should be a room
at the bottom of the black stairway,
my friends sitting with strangers,
waiting, but there’s no one,
only the memory, when
the pale air flickers as if
it were an invisible flame,
of my aunt in her hospital bed
and beside her, about to be left
alone—the last sister, and so soon—
my mother, bent over
the purse in her lap, eyes closed.
I can see the patent leather gloss
and the shiny clasp that until
just now she has been
snapping open and shut, till—
just now—it broke. THat breaking—
like a voice that cracks, cursing
or crying, or the song that falls,
out of thinking too far ahead,
into a smouldering loneliness—
was that the sound of the heart?

here is something

Oh gosh. I’m realizing that I’ve said things, told you things that might make you think you have to change. But you don’t, you don’t. You’ve done everything right so far and it’s wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. So please do not think you have to be more “manly” or domineering or anything else I’ve said because you are good and if I didn’t think so I wouldn’t have stuck around for even this long.

here is something

Dinner and drinks and orange juice when we get to your lovely apartment. Those looks I’m so used to before our lips collide and then the question, “Would you like to leave the kitchen?” And so we do and stop in the hallway and my back on the wall and here is your bedroom. My legs, your arms, your height, my hair (always too much hair). How you can pick me up and when you kiss my forehead I don’t get mad and you laugh at the stupid things I say and are appropriately nerdy. And how I can read aloud to you in the morning and that is OK and lying together is just swell.

I shouldn’t count so much so soon but it’s just so nice.