1.7
August 23, 2010

I wanna know what love is (I want you to show me).

In my life, there’s been heartache and pain.

Two days ago, she left. She was homesick, and I wasn’t enough to keep her here.

Three days ago, here’s a little, uh, poem I wrote her.

Poetry is pretty, but just words. Poetry, or at least my poetry, is weak—enough in this case to roadbump my love’s departure, but not enough.

Here’s a weak pome, at Kerouac called ’em, with the video to cherry your Sunday. ~ ed.

~

The orange sun sets

But, too, a gold sun rises again
Heartbreak and panic—

we hate to lose things we think we love

hate and fear and love, all

washed away with the tides
By the lonely cold silent moon

Suddenly we see it again

And remember

we are all alone
We are all unique
magically complex yet ordinarily forgettable snowflakes in the bitter hurtful
winter wind. But then The Spring comes
She breaks open our icey lives
and melts us down with warm,

cool, gentle hot love

And from cold fear comes a new flower.
Flowers are weak, vulnerable. But, too, Spring can not long be denied.

Life will find a way to open me up
Life will find a way to open you up

And when it does—
When it does real love is not far behind

The moon is still above

do not forget it

Winter will still come

And that is what you are
here for, my Austin-gone girl and friend:

You are here to help warm this cold world with your fiercely soft, red heart.

~

Bonus, a tacky classic:

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