Poems

III. It will feel

To be in love will feel like rock and roll
bass line trembling in my core,
voices like honey dripping together
in the upside-down jar,
and lights rich as fullmoon
drowning my squeezing eyelids,
the lines in my forehead,
my hands pressed on heart from
feeling it so hard.

It will say surprise
like finding the purest blue
on one of a million pages
deep in the Art library.

It will have joyous heaviness like
my childish body at the end of a snow day,
or tender crispness like new nosefreckles
the night after riding August waves,
or like opening a secret attic box
after envying its knowledge
and being frightened to now know because
loving will be knowing,
and knowing means darkest dark parts
and brightest bright.

Being in love feels like
Knowing her feet, he said.
The length of each toe
The depth of her arch
And the way it feels in your palm.
Tell me when you notice the hidden parts.