Love poems were never my forte;

they encapsulate small comforts, Saturday mornings underneath quilted covers, discovering connections two lovers use to screw the world in their favour. I know of spilled Merlot beside discarded clothes, but I was always too cold to savor crackling logs too long. I’m one to be caught between anonymous goodbyes and building straw brides from meaningless trinkets.

I can feign a
creaking bed and gift
you Christmas mornings feeling
but you’ll be
a tenant of my affections
and nothing more.

I’ll give you
my world for
a comma,
temporary pauses to
drama a lone wolf

Because you make me want to
indulge my weakness,
if only on
weekends when we can
sneak into abandoned hotel

make ghosts of
another century swoon.

I’ll vow to keep
you close,
if only today;

red wine in my thoughts,
candlelight and
promises taped
to headboards;

the most
beautiful masquerade.

You are my everything
at least
until the

day you’re not.

4 thoughts on “Always

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