what love is

really, it's not pretty
it isn't usually.

once in a long while,
it's champaigne roses and hearts
cut out and written on
which is lovely, but

more often, love is less chocolatey

love is two straws instead of one,
and lately
it is two or three in the morning long distance
phonecalls
tears stinging your face
after a day of lime-green humiliation
when you think you can never look into someone's eyes again
but they call you the very next day because nothing has changed
and talk about the better things that you are.
love is a blue bowl of instant noodles soup
eyes opened wide and a back flung against a door
love is a grilled-chicken wrap on white
it is the smell of
sitting on a bed wrapped up in
not your own blanket
and not saying a
thing
love is the sting of a smack
or the claw of a nail
or a scream
--you wince,
reminding you to wake up
or do better
love is the offering of an ear or some other body part
even though it knows it won't be taken,
love is an ab-workout laugh, a comment on a blog post,
cold icecream on your nose,
eeeeeeeee's and AHHHHH's, watching the same movie and listening to the same song
over and over and over
it is long yellow tables and desserts
pouring out your heart like apple juice.
sometimes love is a day of the week-- a tuesday. or a wednesday,
love is weird stuffed animals that you steal
and they let you
and it's discovering that you've been on the mind
of an old friend that's been on yours.
love is a lifetime. (forget the reason or the season)

note to self: sometime, when you're sad, come back to remember all these things.

sometimes, love isn't lovely. but at least it's there.