I’m trying to write a love poem

and someone outside

keeps pounding

like the way

thoughts of you

make my heart  beat.

I’ve been distracted by work

all day,

unable to keep my mind

on poetry.

And I want you.

And I miss you.

And I’m trying to write a love poem

even though my phone is already

littered with them.

And now there’s music

like the song of you

I can’t get out of my heart.

And I don’t know

if I should find you

or let you be.

And I’m trying to write a love poem

despite my poor attention span

and my lack of any theme

besides you

and how I was

silent

when the right words

could have opened doors.

And I’m trying to write a love poem

as if some day you’ll read it,

as if it will bring you back,

as if the language of the heart

could be translated.

And someone’s yelling.

And I feel your arms around me,

I taste your lips on mine,

I melt into you.

And what the hell are they building

out there?

Don’t they know

I’m trying to write a love poem

and maybe if I get it right,

it will be the last one I write

and then maybe I can move on

to haiku,

which is much less taxing.

Don’t they know

I’m drowning in confusion,

uncertain if I’m just diving deeper

into this desire

or trying to remove you

from my heart

like scraping gum off a shoe?

Is this a salve

or is it salt

I’m pouring on my own wound?

I’m trying to write a love poem

because we both deserve one,

because my heart is overflowing

and I can’t hold this inside much longer.

And I’m looking for catharsis

and I’m looking for relief

like the silence that finally sets in

when I’ve almost finished a love poem.

This is my time machine

reaching out to you,

hoping you’ll hear these words,

on whatever plane of existence

you inhabit now.

I just wanted you to know

I’ve been writing a love poem

just for you.

Only for you.