love is not a baseball
it is not something I can throw around
toss to trusted pitchers
or catch in a single gloved hand
this is not a game
I am tired of playing love like a flute
keeping the notes precisely between my lips
and waiting for the chords to make sense
and you are not a flower
you do not wait for daylight to unfold you
nor do you bloom in only certain seasons
you are not predictable that way
so I had better
give up on settling the scoreboard
cut the music out of the background
and stop checking my watch for spring to come
because you are not a metaphor
you are not a literary device
you are standing in front of me, breathing
and we both deserve something more real than
poetry
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