When it's cold outside

It's so cold

My face froze

It fell from my skull

It shattered below

My eyes wiggle and roll

They stared up from below

They saw you and cried

'Cause you're the reason summer died.

My Love

My love, my sun, my dearest soulmate... I want your light to wash me out, fade me, turn me to shadow. You're the vibrant center of my universe. You're the flashing star streaking through my mind. You're the eclipse that consumes me. I love you, so. I miss you, so. I want to hold you tight beside me and never let you go. I'm tired of this distance, the difference in our orbits must wane before I wax into madness from missing your pane -- the windowpane of your stained glass, the windows of your soul. They are hazel but not unlike gold. You're my love, my sun, my dearest one.

The Idea of Love

Artwork by Midori Friedbauer

The idea of love

It twists itself into a coil

Wrapping itself up into a hard

KNOT, a solid // heavy bulging

cluster pushing up on

the heart from below //

the abdomen

where the butterflies search

finding nourishment // human sorrow

ONCE rooted,

it sprouts black tendrils

hot and sharp, digging

slowly into the network

of nerves bundled // on the little airlocks

that sit on each side of the human engine

// Leaving little room for breath,

and plenty for bile

---

This is a poem about how I felt when someone who hurt me told me afterward that they loved me. It was a confusing and painful experience. It was an alien, violent caricature of love. I subverted the idea of the butterflies one gets in their stomach when they have loving feelings for someone. Instead the butterflies feed on human sorrow like vultures, and the idea of love takes physical manifestation as a malevolent force that attacks one's vital organs.