She couldn’t put words
To what love is to her.
She said,
‘It’s like they say, you know it when you feel it.’
And I thought,
‘Can anyone put words to love?’
And then I remembered that I am a writer,
And describing the indescribable
Is supposed to be my job.
Although,
Sometimes I am unsure
If I know what love really is…
And how can I describe
What I don’t know?
Then,
I once again
Remembered I am supposed to be a writer,
And I can just imagine
Or
Lie about it.
-C.H.
Why is it that we are so eager to appreciate the beauty of a: flower, or a waterfall, or the stars, or a sunset; but we are hardly ever that open to seeing the beauty in each other? Why is that, dear
“A simple request” she says, “Speak to me in poem, intrigue my mind with your words, genuine and authentic, for your words become actions, are the framework of our relationship, and have the power to
There’s a camera on top of the building Next to this one And it points Right at me I lift up my shirt And flash it my hairy nipple Then I give it the finger It moves with me Turning as I walk away fro
