The fact that one house makes
you feel love
is an ancient myth. I walk
through many unlocked
doors, but if you think about
the one before, or the one after
you will be stuck in compare
and contrast literary devices
about people who know
nothing about Lit 101. Why
would it even matter? I think
of this at the corner of the highway
at Cremazie. The gas price is
insane, but we need it.
Need gas & love.
I don’t think it’s love if you
must analyze it to death.
It takes so much guts
to be vulnerable like this.
I want to tell you so much
but I stare blankly
at a screen
I would much rather
tell you in person
or in a poem
such as this one
or the one right after.
You don’t want it to end
but everything does.