A Love Poem

How do I tell you,
my love,
what you mean
what you are to me?
Do I dust off an old saw,
reset the teeth
in a bid to make a rusty blade bite;
roses, sunset, dew
any of these are
fine. Nice, even.
Run from the room
fingers shaping elf on forehead.
Or do I get all new-edge with it?
It’s like, you see,
my heart’s all, you know,
you know?
Then there’s the avant-natural-realist-expressionary
vision of you,
my sweet avocado,
my juicy garden slug,
what slimy guacamole you make.
In the end, though,
you are for me
what I hope, strive
to be for you.

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Poetry, photos, musing

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