Valentine's Day is hard.
dear Jack
imagine i am a lecture
and you are a pie chart
and if you look close at your littlest toe, it says
rain drops and jungle gyms and stones and city parks and open fields and street lamps and rivers and sand
because that is the smallest smallest fraction
of the things I want to do with you
I will pull you into a sticker booth and say “smile”
and poke the curl of your hair under your bellybutton
because you are just
that
ridiculous
and it makes you grin and look at me shocked
and I try to try to surprise you.
I will take you on a picnic in the middle of a forest
and feel the curve of your back when you sit
and feed you cherries even though I'm not particularly fond of them.
I will buy you a plane ticket to azerbejan
because I don’t even know where the fuck that is
but we should go there and it would be an adventure
let's go on an adventure
jack
your name is a type of cheese and a playing card and a euphemism for masturbation and the first syllable of what I wear when it gets cold and the noise I make when I’m happy and not paying attention
jack
and I love you
I should have waited until I had built up some sort of theme in this poem until I said it but I love you too much to wait
I love you more than I love cookies, and puppies, and stuffed pineapples
more than I love calla lilies and the Japanese
more than I love something else I really love
more than I could ever explain because all my similes really suck
and I love you so much it’s retarded
it’s frickin’ special needs and legally blind
(which is why I like to feel your face in the dark)
I will kiss the spots on your back until I stop feeling happy whenever I see the stars
and I will trace the spots on your face until time heals all the scars
and I will vent to you when I'm stressed
and I will love holding you close against my chest
and I will love it when you get me undressed
and I will laugh at the way you act when you get just—That—ridiculous
and you know what's ridiculous? today
it's four holidays and I'm giving you this poem
and I think part of the reason why I'm giving you this poem is because it's four holidays
because if it was just one we could probably get away with just having sex
but it's four, and I have this poem
and we can totally have sex later
and you know who's ridiculous? me
because I am a lecture and this poem is a pie chart
and if I was really going to fit every second of my love for you into this poem,
it would last forever. and be a list, of
running in the parking lot, and
going through your pictures on facebook, and
making out in the rain, and
laughing when getting your blitzes, and
almost falling off your bed, and
singing on the way to foco, and
leaning on you during a movie, and
hearing your voice on the phone, and
dancing naked in my room, and
watching you play guitar, and
holding you close and tight, and
spinning around on a wood floor, and
massaging your shoulders, and
lingering when I'm about to say goodbye, and
reading this poem to you, and
reading this poem to you, and
watching you smile while I'm reading this poem to you, and
because of you I can correct someone if they say "aloomni", and
because of you I can play a C chord on an acoustic guitar, and
because of you I can point out the nonsensical quality of the lyrics to "Thnks fr th Mmrs", and
because of you I can almost but not-really snowboard, and
because of you I can save the world, if the world is in danger from some death ray virus that is about to be unleashed and the only way to stop it is to type your blitz nickname, really fast—I would be in that room, and the evil supervillain would be laughing evilly and I would bitch slap that evil supervillain and say, "BAM, evil supervillain, your evil plots have failed once again because I have been training for this for three months now."
because of you I am happy even on days when I only see you in the math corridor, and
because of you, I am so
in
love
because you are you
and it’s hard to say more than that because if I mention some aspect of yourself then it will seem like I am neglecting the million other aspects I will not remember to say, because
when you are not around I find myself searching for the feeling I get in the quiet of night when I roll over and find you there—
I hate rolling over and not finding you there—
I hate you being sad and
I hate writing love poems— this poem sucks
because it's just a sporadic millionth of the things I want to say
like how I never thought I could look into someone's eyes and see that they understand me
but that even when I'm feeling off I look into your eyes and see that you understand me—and this poem sucks because I am too happy to use dark imagery or be evocative with my soul and
this poem sucks because it is a pie chart, and I'm not good at pie charts—I can't even draw circles when I need to do venn diagrams—and this poem sucks,
because I cannot quantify my love for you— it is not one-fifth luck and one-third feelings and three-eights experience and eleven one-twentieths "other"
it's just there
and it's infinite.
