and everything’s holy

begin again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and

A pleasure to have in the labyrinth

in most baking recipes that require it, love can be substituted with truth

when is a man going to give all his blood for the sweetness of my laughter

If I were to write a poem today it would be about amaretto coffee. Showering and not washing my hair, pulling up the sides of my underwear so my hips look bigger, playing Etta James while putting away laundry. My love would be making dinner. He would bring me a glass of wine and sit on our dresser while I took my first sip. I would light a candle and say, “don’t you love this ambiance? Why didn’t you vacuum today?” He would say, “come eat with me.” The poem would be about being in love for a long time. You would be able to tell that this is what it is about without knowing anything else.