There's a painting at the Chicago Institute of Art by Gustave Caillebotte titled Paris Street; Rainy Day. I used to go and look at it every Thursday. Thursday, because that's the day with the fewest ... [+]
I am sick of the way
we turn cliches
into compliments.
It is easier for the poet to say that
you are the wind beneath my wings,
the air in my sail,
the breath of my lungs,
than for the poet
to outright say
I LOVE YOU.
I am tired of the way
we turn vocabulary
into compliments.
It is easier for the poet to pronounce that
their darling is the mistral below their airfoils,
the ventilation of their navigational cloth,
the respiration of their bronchi,
than for the poet
to admit
THEY LOVE YOU.
I will skip the eloquence
that so often goes over
your head.
It is easier for you to understand that,
you are someone I care about and adore,
someone with whom I wish to spend time with
for moments and moments more.
I confess,
in words you can understand,
I LOVE YOU.
we turn cliches
into compliments.
It is easier for the poet to say that
you are the wind beneath my wings,
the air in my sail,
the breath of my lungs,
than for the poet
to outright say
I LOVE YOU.
I am tired of the way
we turn vocabulary
into compliments.
It is easier for the poet to pronounce that
their darling is the mistral below their airfoils,
the ventilation of their navigational cloth,
the respiration of their bronchi,
than for the poet
to admit
THEY LOVE YOU.
I will skip the eloquence
that so often goes over
your head.
It is easier for you to understand that,
you are someone I care about and adore,
someone with whom I wish to spend time with
for moments and moments more.
I confess,
in words you can understand,
I LOVE YOU.