Love comes in all kinds of cliches
Like raindrops on a broken heart
Or stars in one’s eyes.
I used to want that but
Just like the rain, that kind of love is too fickle
For my taste.
What I want is a love worn in.
Like an old apartment with a
scent of old coffee and lilac
Like a reused gallon of milk
Like a broken record playing Coltrane
Like vintage revolution t-shirts
now kept in glass cabinets for display
Like a room with too many old
books instead of a kindle or a nook
Like warn in shoes that feel like
heaven when you step in them after a long, hard day
Like the graying of one’s
lustersilk locks
Like fading sight but growing
trust
Like a rocking chair with a dingy
throw
Like I got you, baby, but you
already know
Like everyday you always leave
first, then I turn off the lights and lock the door and follow you downstairs
Like I know you like milk with
your tacos. There’s a glass for you on the table. And your heartburn pills, in
case you forgot.
Like an older couple giddy about
a Cary Grant film
Like I can’t see you but I can
feel your essence
Like I love you without hearts
and flowers
But I got you and I’m listening
to you,
Even the words you do not say.
Like two wholes creating one
whole.
Yes.
That’s the kind of love I want.
A love worn-in.
