I saw a friend yesterday:
A beautiful woman with a convenient boyfriend
who loves her in detail
and draws small circles
around all her parts and quirks
and keeps them in his pocket.
He takes polaroids of her
and saves them to polish
in the morning.
He holds her like he wants to be inside her,
and she pets him like a persistent dog.

And it's got me wondering about this whole love thing,
what it really is
to know that you love someone
even if they can't love you back,
and to give and give that,
and feel ok about taking it,
and what to do,
what to do.

Because so far
I exist on this impervious level,
and you'd have to work hard to slay me.
Not that I don't love,
I love so thoroughly
it's just spread out enough to keep me afloat.
There's always some joy around the corner.
So far anyway. So far.