Fresh Hell

I don’t write you many love poems

Because we’re too alike.

We are both too sarcastic

To boast of Shakespearean attachments: there is no life without my love and all that.

That’s just terrifying.

No, our love is a fine friendship

Only slightly crippled by your bad puns.

Our love is perfect honesty without condemnation.

Our love is to give each other absolute freedom

And watch the other return again and again.

Our love is the ability to bring each other back to our senses.

Our love is when I let you have the last piece of chocolate

Or when you notice I’m cold and turn off the AC.

A thousand tiny untold sacrifices.

There is no obsession here.

There is only kindness

Generosity

A willing ear.

It’s a fond knowledge

That someone good

Is always there for me at the end of the day.