THIS IS NOT A LOVE POEM

I have written too many love poems
 

to write another about the stars


and the way the sun always visits the east
 and west so neither feels alone

so this is not a love poem


but instead it is a poem about the way 
your chest rises and falls
,

when you are sleeping and I cannot.


You have found peace in your bed, 

while
 i am still struggling to share my space,


but you have let me in
 and I am leaving my doors unlocked.

This is not a love poem,
 but a letter to your hands
,

because I feel more beautiful


when they are touching me
,

and even the summer breeze 
cannot boast that honor.

I will not write you a love poem
 because they become about the metaphors
,

and no one is sure
 whose Shakespeare’s sonnets were really about.


I never want you to be anonymous.

There are too many poems


lining the boxes in my head
,

so this is not one
 because 

I will love you,


without needing to write it down.