“write me a love poem”
she said.
i would’ve rather it inspired than required but, you know how it goes.
so i wrote one and it went;
‘i love you’.
she didn’t like it.
it was too short and it didn’t describe fantastical tales of adventures and being together till we’re both wearing dentures, et cetera.
so,
this time I recited;
‘simple is better.
i could dazzle dozens with my distinguished and distinctive dictatorship over the queen’s english diction,
airs of perplexity to complicate unnecessarily
with aural assaults which wear upon ears heavily,
alliteration and assonance achingly aiming to achieve
the impression that
love
was worth its weight in superfluity
but rather than synchronise syllables and manipulate metaphors,
agonise over letters just to create something clever,
why don’t i just
Write.
from me,
to you.
the more complex it gets,
the more room
there is for you
to misconstrue and,
that’s the last thing i want to do.
cos what’s the point in
getting a poem
if you don’t
get it?
cos every hour
it
took, is just an hour
i
took, away from loving and living,
with you.
like a child’s drawing
whose simplicity has a direct and
positive correlation to how
beautiful
you find it,
i will come home with paint on my face
to show you our not-quite-square house
and our not-quite-square gate,
and dare you to find two windows the same
size and show you with pride
where I coloured my crayon
outside of the lines
cos,
its not what you see
but what you know that i mean.
an imperfect house but it’s
Ours
and i love it.
with us standing outside and a big yellow sun
right above it,
us holding three-fingered hands,
big fat smiles that go from here,
to this ear
with big fat heads, with no necks
so we could speak less
and just .be. more.
to elongate love for it’s own sake is absurd cos
everything i want to say takes up less than 5 words:
i miss you.
i want to kiss you.
come back.
and
i love you.
even still
words couldn’t ever describe,
so why bother try,
I’ll just,
draw you a picture’.
she shrugged.
“that was alright”.