My love is real, a hefty hand that smacks you in the face. My love is alive, a fragrant flower with a milky white stem. Falling like snow down the staircase, broken dishes under my feet. Steering off the road into a ditch, into a tree, into a mail box, up and onto your charmingly groomed front lawn, just in time to wreck the party. Screaming like playground children, running after each other with melting Popsicles, balloons set free from sticky little hands. And we're up and off and into the empty air. My love is descending, a dimly lit alley filled with strays and garbage. My love is lying low, a sick and cowering dog under the kitchen table. Burning like skin under mid-August sun, swollen blisters on my shoulders. Running out the door into the garden, into the shed, into the swimming pool, up and onto your sizzling red car hood, just in time to shatter the glass. My love is on fire.
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