Sunday, April 5, 2009

"untitled." on purpose.

Untitled

Why are you in love with me? you ask
as the train weaves through the forest.
I just am. I don’t know. Quit asking.

It’s possible that it’s the way
you sometimes laugh to yourself
when you’re reading about medieval history.

I guess it’s that i don’t mind
laying with you when you’re soaked with rain
because you have too much faith in the weather
and our dryer is broken.

Maybe my love for you lies in the way
you tie your shoelaces,
but i can’t say for certain.

It could be how you swallow me with your silence
when i want nothing but to discuss the details.

It might be something entirely different
which i happened to have forgotten
because i forget things when i’m with you…
and it doesn’t even make me angry.

Perhaps it is because i never have to think about it.

I’d rather not tell you why, though,
because i fear the words
will make it less
or more,
and i think love
deserves to be left alone.

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