please, not another love poem.
i’ve had enough of that.
i’ve had enough of your eternal declarations
repetitions
assumptions
fortunes
spun out like hopeless twine
amid fingers, tied around knuckles
uniting two people, smiling
secured to their futures
their forever’s
because when i listen to your love poems
i’m compelled to mention the wandering eyes
the loneliness
the misguidance
the life insurance
the countless hours spent inside
alone
waiting for a love poem

so, please, not another
aren’t centuries enough?
count pages of delicacy
documentations of the nature of the outrageous sentiments
called love
the word has wrapped itself around the ages
with paper and ribbon and skin
spiraling pointed tales
dipped in ink and sin
spelling out words to capture
the supposed rapture of encountering the One
the Animus
the diamond in the rough
call it love
again, and again, and again
this love
i can’t bare it.
please, not another love poem.

if you must,
you’ll have to hold my hand
because if you don’t, i know for certain, i can’t
listen again
to words flung like
rocks, like mud
words about light falling on skin
and the curve of a wrist
the skip of a heartbeat at a moment’s notice
i can’t
not without the aid of your hand
the weight of your forearm
the angle of your shoulder
i need you to support me
if you insist on opening 
another one of those pointless love poems
because surely, witout you, i’ll fall
knees will give out from under me
i will succumb to the heat
tumble backwards and bleed
bleed ink into pavement and etch it into memory
kilobytes carved into a backlit screen with my fingertips
sealed with chapped lips
whispered into binary and dismissed
i will settle again into myself, content
with being alone
a cyclic mess of preventable chaos
provoked by the same words
again, and again, and again
(you and your fucking love poems)