Love, Poems 

I feel like I’m always writing love poems. 

A letter addressed “Dear somebody,  

Hey, it's been a while since we’ve talked, 

I don’t have anyone to bask  

in my words so I’m writing you again.  I think 

I’m in love with love poems, with the imagery 

all relating in some way back to you, like a bridge 

of metaphors and symbolism to walk across 

as I try to imagine the color of your eyes.   

Blue like the ocean  

or green like pine trees, brown like 

rich soil or hazel like distant mountaintops. 

You're an artist and your laugh  

is a guitar riff, the world echos 

your solo no matter how stupid the joke, and no one 

makes you laugh like you do. 

I think I’m in love with love poems  

because I am in love with writing  

about you” 

Sincerely,  

A lover of love poems. 

I feel like I’m always writing love poems, even  

when I meet a girl with the galaxy in her smile.  When I no 

longer must guess at the color of  

her eyes or find meaning in the way 

that she breathes.  In which I can  

taste the exact flavor of whiskey in  

her walk and count her freckles as 

stars in the night sky.  When I can  

feel her skin like silk and linen  

and I can float atop her voice 

like an ocean’s morning waves. 

When I can look into her eyes 

and see me seeing her. 

I feel like I’m always writing love poems, but 

as I look at you, dancing in the sunset, silhouetted. 

I suddenly can’t think 

of anything to say.