Love is

the conversation at 3 a.m.

in the cold and

the name of that constellation

that’s on the tip of your tongue,

and it will drip off 

the tips of your fingers

but it’s welcome to.

It is the laugh that sounds foreign

when it slips from my cracked lips

but you drink it in

as you pour into me,

your cup overflowing.

When all you can think about

in the fall is letting go

but the moon beckons your waves

and for some reason

you stay.

There’s something about you,

a part I thought I’d recognized

like some lingering scent

that awakens distant memories

I can’t quite reach.

You make it all so easy.

That’s what love is.

An ease among struggle,

the calm in the

eye of the storm.

Love is knowing we aren’t meant to be.

It’s knowing that I can never have you

and being okay with that.

Chilled to the bone,

cold bumps and raindrops,

I shut my eyes and remember

what it’s like to feel alive when I’m with you.

You’re so familiar.

That’s what love is.

Carefree and lively,

a sanctuary or haven

when I gaze at you.

Walking to the very edge thinking,

“I could jump

but why should I?”

Love is taking it day by day.

And I’ll forget it again but 

love is finding things

that will remind you of it.