I Think Love is Something That Happens to Other People

like winning the lottery/ or finding God in your sock drawer.
I think love is something
that happens to other people nebulous,
distant, an invention of the movies; I think love is like death/as in,
it happens to everyone/ to you,
until it happens/ to you,
and then where else could you be
but in love? Where else could you be but in
the belly of the beast, ? that oozing cavern
where people go in fairy tales? I think
love
is a creation. I think maybe you shape it
with your hands, I think maybe you find it
stuck in your molars, I think maybe it comes to you
when you’re in the shower, your face tilted
towards the water while your mind melts somewhere
else, I think maybe
we’ve all been naming it
wrong.
You know that love? That falling-to your-knees love?
That where’d – the water-go love? That
hold-me-close-I’ll-never-leave-I-know-your-favorite-
coffee-creamer love? That what-we talk-about-when-
we
talk-about-love love? You ever felt what? I mean,
really felt any of that?/ Yeah, tell me again
how you feel it. Yeah, tell me again/ how it fills
the chest, fills the head, fills the
lungs. Tell me
again
what it means to find God in your sock drawers. Tell me
again.