If Only In Love
Dear Sweet, breathtaking Love,
If only I could wrap my words around you
and let every drop of your saliva be a part of every single conversation
that I have the pleasure of being a part of.
If only I could make you into a snuggie covering me from head to toe
so I would know how to accept everyone and everything without judgment.
If only I could see you in the back seat of an untinted Nissan Altima
playing with a toy giggling goo goos and gah gahs with enormously tantalizing combinations of dual retinas and corneas.
If only I could stand in your shoes and lighting juice shoots
up from the veins of my toes into the arteries of my soul
and I become your representation of Superwoman
rocking a sky blue cape that adorns a rosy S.
Alas, I am not that specimen.
Instead, my tongue’s poisonous venom spouts ambiguous truths
and incoherent identities.
My body’s emotion-proof seal internalizes anger’s bipolar disorder
and releases pheromones of its cold shoulders and eye rolls.
The childlike essence is a teenage girl with an attitude that has been shaped
by the trolling opinions of Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.
My shoes are steel toe boots marked with the mistakes of past possessors of my heart.
So thank you, Love. You’ve done the best that you could.
I think it’s better if WE see other people.