Dali

I don’t like milk 
only with coffee
and mainly in
round cups that
remind me
of the direction
my head spins in
when you
talk to me.

My head,
and heart
retired when
you almost
kissed
me
in the street.

My knees
refuse to
hold my body
in protest that
you
should be
holding me.

I want my body
next to your body
with nobody
around.

Won’t you
move into
my heart?

I want
to forget
everybody
that rented it
before you.

My fortune cookie told me
love is the only true adventure
and I understood then how I 
never wanted to arrive anywhere 
but the moment I met you. 

I remember wanting to build
a home there, when you called
me for the first time. 

I couldn’t sleep for days thinking
this is probably what everybody else
dreams of when they dream of love. 

I think love is everything you have
offered me on a golden plate…

It’s everything you had said
to me without having to say it.

Every ‘hello’ and ‘talk soon’ and ‘be good’
and every bit of small talk we engage in often.

Sometimes I spend weeks
missing you in a single minute.

The hours go so slow without you.

You’re at dinner with your friends and
I am still stuck on the morning coffee I shared with you. 

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like
to wake to you in bed, finding your things in
the bathroom when I catch myself thinking
I must be dreaming, and hearing your voice
from inside our apartment calling my name. 

My heart was so right about you.

You’re the vacation I mentally check
out to every time I need a little loving.

What I would wear for you
Besides my heart on my 
Sleeve, I don’t know.

What things I would say,
I forget the minute
You say the sweet things
You say often. 

Where this will go,
What road we’ll follow,
Excites me.

Every street sign
In the city of my heart
Holds directions
For you to find
What you came here
Searching for. 

There in the place
That was a place,
Now much more,
You’ll find me
Wondering where
You have been
Every time before 

I waited for love
To arrive.

What do you call it when
a heart puts up a sign
that says, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

[I want to take back
every love poem
I ever wrote for
other people.]

What do you call it when
you see yourself in
that someone
you can’t seem to
shut up about?

[My hands don’t know
what to do without you…]

What do you call it when
your head spins in circles?

[I can’t stop thinking about you]

What’s that thing
everybody seems
so obsessed with?