Baila

17

This is a poem about Love

What is love, dammit?
Everyone’s always going on about it
I thought I felt – once –
But I wasn’t quite sure of it
Before it escaped me
It’s the only one
That still refuses
To be felt
Out of the whole kaleidoscope
Love
Is what I don’t understand

I’ve nearly fallen again
It falls with me
I crunch it under my feet
Do you hear it?
It reflects me disinterestedly
Until the blackness of my heel looms too large
Slivers of incoherent drops
Die unfeelingly beneath my shoe

This is a poem about Summer
Because in summer
It always rains