Two solitudes

All I wanna write about is you 
and your intense gaze, dark as a vanilla pod,
and the soft brush of your chin against my neck

The pillows pushed onto the floor,
one sock lost between the mattress and the wall,
my ten toes tucked under the top bunk boards

But my head is light and sweet as lavender
and words can't touch where you have

I wonโ€™t always have beautiful things to say
and poems like this are gross even when they're honest

Because any picture I paint would be a crude replica
of the hum in my heart, loud enough to make the poet mute

All the old storytellers knew the great and terrifying truth
and there's nothing new for me to say:

Love is, yes, exactly like an arrow

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