Always be in love

Me? I'm always looking for people to fall in love with.
So that I can talk about the curve of their hip, the way they sip
their morning coffee, tousle headed, sighing deeply.
Smiling up at me, sleepily, eyes crinkling at the corners,
like the creases in the sheets, like the knees of their bent out jeans,
like topics you're bursting to discuss, all mushed up together,
waiting to be smoothed out.

I'm always screaming out into the universe,
about this person or that,
someone I'm in love with.
Most of the time, they don't even know it,
but I've had babies with them
and they look just like the reflection of my bare knees
when I admire myself in the mirror as a tease, aiming to please
Wondering 'who wouldn't fall in love
with all of this,' grabbing at my love handles wildly I would say.

Poetry comes naturally to those who love
and those who lose that love
so I've been gazing open mouthed
at some of the sweetest, most intelligent men I have known,
wishing for a wind to have blown,
that ruffled my hair, raise my skirts flirtily,
and made me look like Jennifer Garner did in 13 going on 30,
when she stands in front of that jumbo fan,
and make them look at me,
like Mark Ruffalo looks at her,
and he knows,
and she knows.

But they don't
look at me,
they look at a young girl,
intensely juvenile,

with a naive, open smile,
who has a pretty name,
with a good brain behind her owlish frames,
and a great rack bent into that slouchy posture,
and a smart mouth within those wayward teeth.
and someone who could be,
but isn't.

But I could be, right?

I'll still fall in love with you.
Over and over.

So that I can write about your chin with the butt,
or the mole on your ear,
when I lean in close to whisper,
I'll always be in love with you.

So that I can write about all the glorious things
we wouldn't do.


At least I have words,
and I'll always be in love with them,
because they let me be in love with you.