I wasn’t searching for you
didn’t know I needed to belong.
Life had taught me — be content with
whatever love had come to me
or hadn’t. Don’t you do that when you’re
older, wiser? I had learned my
lesson well — then you called me sweetheart!
golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.
I have a non-exclusive heart and it beats to love more than one. I wouldn’t be surprised to find its voices are several, throbbing in a syncopated harmony.
When certain love songs come on the radio, I feel my chest tighten, my mouth stretches into a smile and I remember. Those memories are of more than one… they overlap and coexist in his oversized standing-room-only heart.
You see I’ve had so many first kisses first dances first make-up-make-out sessions, after first-lover’s-quarrels… I’ve loved in messy, muddy, mixed-up puddles and those who know my love and share it, are happy to celebrate the others. They understand that my love spills out into many cups.
Still, in this heart, oh my lover, are things that only belong to you. There are kisses in my mouth, hidden beneath my tongue, that are yours alone. I don’t touch anyone else the way I touch you — I cannot — because they are not you, and you are not them.
No relationship looks like ours, and that is as it should be. We are the only two who could build these memories and recall them fondly, in years to come.
There are plans, fantasies, wishes, and dreams only we two can share. There are no parts of me you to which you do not have free access — your key to my heart fits all the doors, and there are several keys.
At the same time there are things in me that only you can own, and I cherish them. I protect them like a fiercely monogamous lover — it is a dichotomy I cannot fully explain.
You are here.
In the coffee cup
that warms my hand.
In the laughter of family,
echoing inside these walls.
In the quiet before I fall asleep.
You may be miles away from me.
But in these small, familiar things– you.