Tracing fingers along the map of your skin.
When we looked into the little window at the baking crust, it was a sludge of bubbling grease.
I love green spaces, shrines that have grown around trees, and rituals that worship nature.
I took that bullet when you said you loved me.
Isn’t that what makes dreams worth dreaming?
Love is listening to your wife share a completely uninteresting three and a half minute-long story… and also not telling her she told you this story already.
She told me I’d get A’s on my spelling tests if I slept with the words under my pillow. I always did.
If love was only these two things, it would be enough.
No, you are everything. But maybe that’s just me.
…when my mouth is the sole thing you wear.
I don’t know if I’ll ever love again like I did when I was 20. But I have faith.
An open call: Tell me what you love.
That was the last time I ever tried scoring a game. But he kept bringing me.
The Susquehanna ran murky beneath our feet.
Love is absorbing brute distortion from three feet away, no stage, just sheets of plywood.
Love is living life in ever growing and encompassing circles of compassion.