A creature of bad habits
sees
the most 'thingy' thing he's ever seen,
at least since he saw her
the time before, and the scores of times before that,
running out of adjectives and in
two different languages.
We've
lived around the block
from each other for almost 400 days now,
maybe you saw me once and didn't say anything,
maybe I saw your melon head and stringy, black hair,
but on a different face,
sitting in front of me at the theater.
Put a feeling to a face,
a face to a name,
and call it love.
It's instinct.
This feels right.
It feels like,
what does a feeling feel like?
I'm sick of these words, poetry-and-fail,
I want to compose a feeling,
drop it in the mailbox of your mind and
see it last
longer than words, faces, or
bad habits.
