I am on the floor of your room as you

you dangle off the bed, lovely

even under fluorescents. Lovelier,

maybe, the imperfections.

If this were love it wouldn’t scare me.

 

How can I have never been in love? 

I will admit, this looks just like love looks from the outside 

but love is not supposed to be so simple, so then this

is chemicals —

our souls need take

no more responsibility.

 

Do you think I’m afraid of love?

You may be right, but then if this were love

it wouldn’t matter.

 

We stayed up talking about who knows what.

(I don’t remember unimportant things.)

What I remember is your hair,

red,

flowing,

pooling on the ground

blood slowly rushing to your cheeks

feet on the wall

turning to smile at me,

and me,

looking,

still only knowing love by what it wasn’t.

 

Leaving your building, in the quad,

I greet the sun unshaven

and try to remember the time I heard somebody explain

what color it is, really.