I love you.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
I love cornflakes and strawberries. I love you.
I love stars and stripes (the stars in the sky, the stripes on a shirt, preferably brown.)
I love cows and chickens but not crows and crawdads.
I love the voluptuous honesty of tight rope. I love the silk behind your buttered haunches. I love you.
I love them. I love the exhaustion quantity of red beans and rice. I love you and your other thems theming. I love tulips.
I love the way that a button fly is inherently more masculine, just by the nature of the action of insertion, than a zip fly.
I love the jetting puncture you elevate to a hurt. I love the hurt part of you. I love to kiss it and make it better (but you refuse to allow me to see it).
I love the horror of my heart as it leeches froth and stamina from the full description of you as told to it by the errant actors of the 22rd circuit.I love the ones that lie.
I love forgetting faces and remembering names. I love how faces change on a dime. I love a face with a good chin and pleasant pillow-like cheeks (the kind to fall asleep in, nestled and wrestled below).
I love the subway. I love the figures figuring out things on their phones and listening to, from what I can tell, good music. I love you. I love the way the other figure figures into the dreams I sometimes have at night and awake.
I love the way your hand rests on a bed, by way of invitation. I love grammatical errors and the passive voice. I love the sick whisper gathering at the head of the bed. I love the way you say goodbye at night.
I love the telephone, whether it rings or not. I love un-checked luggage and the easy way out. I love this room when you’re in it. I love the sound of your laugh coming easy even at things that I don’t find funny. I love crabcakes.
I love the things I do at night. I love the kids on the street playing ball. I love the weather, whether or not it’s sunny. I love to happendance the quicktime folly. I love to smell strangers. I love to keep the kept things closed behind me.
I love mayonnaise. I love avocado and cucumber. I love NY Strip steak and a glass of Cabernet. I love bread before dinner and would prefer it be warm. I love braised anything and crowded beds. I love silly girls and little urges. I love cold cuts. I love salad with the dressing on the side and nice teeth. I love to eat.
I love to be helped up. I love the smell of coffee in the morning, even if that’s from the night before. I love you. I love how you never say I love you. I love you say such stupid things that I cannot bring you home, and your parents are closer so it would be less of a cost, anyway, and we’re not even religious and yeah.
I love how it will cost you everything. I love perhaps, even in pleasure. I love the shimmer the men carry. I love the bogus, the blistered, the bombed. I love the way you look tonight. I love how it appears, how in multiples, its morbid and in singles desperate. I love the oak and moat around the castle, the valiant one.
I love you. I love your pepper and bacon and fat. I love your yoga mat with the stains on it. I love the yellow strolls we take in the midnights and make out on a stoop somewhere stupid for guys our age. I love singing in bars and blue skies, always. I love how what I will do will make you mad. I love you.
I love the ache in my bundle of intimacy. I love the further place. I love how stupid this is to even think about, but do you even like Brahms? I love how high I am and how I don’t expect me to be a part of it. I love the tip of your penis, bundled out. I love it all. I love the way the ocean gets to have it’s say in things.
I love you and your frantic and crippled legs all flying off the rack shack snake like a tender lender of the vertical bent I love that bent bend back to where we bend the bed to a cripple, say, love the nipple sweeten pucker, love tuckered out but bending back still, baby, love it! love it! love the function of worry and fuck ya hankering don’t worry I love you, baby, I love you love you love you love you love love love love love you.
I love you horrendous and all the winters. I love you, beck and call and if the calendar’s free. I love when schools quit their language. I love liquids on my face and the praying motion it makes. I love your turgid eyes. I love the way that sometimes you don’t even bother to mention when I have blood on my face.
I love Amy. I love Carmel. I love Nevin and Matthew and Shawn. I love Shawn. I love Dennis and Paul. I love Anthony and Eric and Eric and Eric. I love Jackson. I love the dude who liked butter. I love the ones I can’t remember the names or faces of.
I love love and local legends and boy am I tired. I love you. I love the way we get to sleep at night. I love the trees, even when they move.
I wouldn’t love you if I liked you any less.
