musings on love

love is a collection of images;

i hold you dearly.

a

lingering smile,

love is a

musing. love is breath after

drowning. love is november.

love is an amnesia.

an older woman teaches

me this, hands in the gaps

of my hair in the empty

gaps of atoms between us,

love is a forgetting. love is a kind

of forgetting. you don’t know how to love someone until you learn to forget.

of the crimes committed on

the no mans land of my body,

both of us are guilty. love

is a kind of amnesia.

i tell a friend i worry

i

wont find anyone. she tells me

i’m too pretty for a man to love me.

this is 19.

love is a sort of argument.

love is a collection of images;

how dearly dearly i hold you.