Introduction to the Limits of Metaphor (A Love Poem)
I am snowing inside I am a house with a rickety roof
I am a boat that is capsizing I am waves cold on your feet
You are the moon you are beyond my reach
I am the cranberry in your tart you are the splinter from the wood spoon
You have a face like a coin
I am the fingertip print on the window
You are rain you are a storm surge you have devastated
You are the peel of the apple I am the blackberry juice on your lips
You are the peacock’s screech I am somnolent as night doves
You are traffic jams I am a desert road
I have a wool sweater on my heart
You wear socks on your voice box
I am red lipstick you are the pair of shoes that goes with nothing in the closet
You are an untidy and scorched omelet I am a fallen soufflé
I am season one of Lost you are season nine of the X Files
I am missing organs I am the fallen starlet you are the boy born without a face
We are a pile of fur and feathers leather and oilstain
Civet cat and cigarette perfume wine glass and poorly knit rug
I am cesium I am a radon daughter
You are the phosphorous glow you are the sodium flame
We are teenagers in the rain speeding cars tumbles in the corn
We are empty bottles in morning light with labels peeled off
We are wingless fireflies
We are outlying data the graph that goes off the charts
I am snowing I am out of your reach I am a seascape on your wall
I am a boat gone missing on your horizon
