Love Isn’t Ever On Sale

I remember listening to Andrew Bird tune his violin in East London.
I remember falling in love with any cute girl who smiled pleasantly at me.
I remember how snow looks as it falls outside the window, painting Earth white.
I remember when I was young and cartoons dominated Saturday mornings.

Time moves like a crotchety old man. Your heart is a cane.
When the flags go half mast, do you know how to react?

I would like to let you know…
I am not a poet. I am just drunk.
Colons and semi-colons, commas, we plop em’ down and retrace our steps.
I can write you a love poem but you might not understand the words.

These emotions flood the heart… but I don’t have the words.

This beer swishes, I sip it. Amoebas crawl towards resolution.
Nebbish hearts squeak. These dancing shoes break. Everything is diluted.
If you take my hand, I might show you the man behind the curtain.
He plays a defunct piano. Are you an actress? Read my monologue.

I wear a hoodie indoors.
I swear I’m just improvising.
I stare at the spotlight to go blind.
We empty these gestures so not to spill them.

Love isn’t ever on sale. It costs the price of your soul. The words you use.
Are you willing to walk ten miles to the beach to bottle up the sunset?
It costs the actions you pursue. The sacrifices you take. The way you move.
Wait. You don’t understand? I  will tear off my shirt to use as a mast,
so we can sail to Catalina and grill muscles on the beach, girl. With wine.
White wine. They don’t know the equation. Their math doesn’t add up.
If you still don’t understand, I’ll draw the map on a green chalkboard.

The pony is a mule and is in the backyard.
Coffee is gurgling in the percolator.
The wheels keep turning. The snow keeps melting.
Wine is gently breathing in the decanter.

Las Vegas is four hours away and calling.
I want to roll the dice, see where they land.
Not every metaphor ends at the period,
some last till infinity.

I am drunk on the thought of you.
Now I’m going to sleep caught up in you.
The AM radio tunes play softly.
The ghost town rodeo is canceled.
You wave your handkerchief from the balcony,
I don’t want to love you just partly,
like raindrops misty on the windshield,
You and I combine like fine wine and alchemy.

I open all the windows so
Southern Californian rain penetrates my apartment.
You are the rare rainbow in the desert.
Let’s cut down the cacti and build a church…

Sometimes I wish,
these things weren’t so hard to say.
Sometimes I wish,
these things would just obey.


One thought on “Love Isn’t Ever On Sale

  1. aos, that is so beautiful. i love the wisdom between the lines so to speak. things like “Not every metaphor ends at the period, some last till infinity”-

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s