I know about how the world turns
hell we all do,
but when “sentience” has been redefined as
“that means we should have known better”…
that it isn’t love that makes the world go around.
Love just happens to be
the only thing
that makes all this spinning
enough to make someone kill another
shares the blanket
that makes your toes stand and scrape
upon the edge of self destruction…
this bed brings nightmares
this kind of dreaming only happens
when we know that what is real,
isn’t what we can feel.
Love is the only thing that makes
this dream have meaning.
drawn inwards to your center
love is the only thing
that will keep you safe in there…
And yet, travel deep enough
is all you will find,
for they happen at the same time.
Orbit about you,
until you see the beauty
and with it
paint a mural upon your heart.
Pull on your coat sleeves,
coax you into the hallway
with a thousand doors,
hold the hand no matter which ones
call your name.
Reach into your pockets
to find the love letters you left
because you knew
to remind yourself
that this is a love story.