what i talk about when i talk about love

sort of stole the title from a raymond carver story, but his editor made it up anway...

sometimes, there's just too much,

and it makes me sick

when i have no place

to let it all bleed out.

this joyous glow

bouncing around the pits of my intestines,

clawing for a chance at freedom.

i'd regale you with tales of cherished memories,

but none of that means much these days

without the magic fingers stirring the copper pot

like a benevolant wizard charting the perfect course

for two destined souls perpetually colliding

throughout the ages.