if i could shout my love as loud as the sun,
roaring and radiating at all frequencies,
intense as an alien weapon,
you better wear nuclear shades,
get to the bunker, make peace.
love that obliterates, incinerates,
love that hates,
vectors of pain,
yearning paths,
happy haha paths,
cloud cuckoo land crap,
the mess of some mammal i glanced
at on the roadside,
a trap, the ruler of yap,
love that waits until sunset.
stupid words, like love.
there's a spectrum of light
and waves, fields, energies,
and disjointed unities
we can't perceive, like love.
sick of hearing about it,
it's been talked about enough.
something made up, like electron clouds
and Feynman diagrams, an equation
to explain the burning.
stop saying love. too much shouting.
the sun isn't looking at me, you, or anyone.
the sun doesn't look at all.
burning all the same.
the way you don't recognize me
and my dreams are peeling my skin off
from a sunburn. sure, that's love.
yeah, love is the sweatless heat
and horrible itch from laying on the beach
too long with the sun blaring, not gazing,
swaying without a care, no notice of me,
while i shrivel into self-delusions.
stay hydrated, baby. don't call me baby.
i wasn't around until a mirror,
emerged or immersed, who knows,
from a puddle where birds dipped wings.
wtf am i saying? where's it come from?
i'm tired of borrowing words and writing.
tomorrow or the one after
i'm kicking away the keyboard
and digging the burrow
where we can curl up together.
you won't need to read anymore,
our lips pressing one another in silent talk,
burning the dictionary for warmth.