Hershey's Kisses


They say distance makes the heart grow fonder,

But all it really does is make minds wander

So that I can hardly remember the color of your irises, or the way your voice sounds when you whisper your name into my skin.

I'm not too fond of distance, but I am quite fond of you.

And if I have to travel mile after mile on blistered, bloody feet,

I'd feel like I was flying.
Because your kiss makes my heart soar.

And I can't help but to want more and more and more of the mornings when we'd trade coffee for kisses and then get drunk on their sweetness.

When I miss you, I eat Hershey's.

With all those kisses we savored,

I took their silver wrappers and traded your crumpled clothes for the shining new armor hanging at the end of the bed.

I hope that armor will be enough to fling those bullets back to those who try to steal you from me, because I'm scared that the forcefield of my love wrapping around you will be less like steel and more like saran wrap and that it won't be strong enough to march the front lines with you when I'm on the other side of the world.

I'm scared that if my mind wanders one second from your face, that I'll forget you and only have grainy pictures to remember you by.

So I think of you always, my knight in killer's camo, who could never quite understand why love was my weapon of choice.

Love isn't really a weapon, but a shield.

The strength to hold myself together when I sleep alone, and the magician that makes me look back on all our past arguments and long for the chance to have many more.

I want so much more of you.

Let me pry the gun from your hand and press it to my breast so you can feel my heart pound and translate the language of a skipped beat.

Give me the chance to make a soundtrack of your noises, so I can blare the melody of your snores and hiccups and sobs and laughter on the stereo.

Maybe then I won't forget.

If I can't have your touch, I want to satisfy the other four senses.

I'll scavenge for the cologne you wore on our first date and bathe only with your soap.

I'll collect Hershey's kisses and salt and espresso for my tongue.

I'll adorn my barren walls with grainy pictures of your face pressed to my face from the days when I was the only American you had to protect.

And I can't help but to resent that you aren't protecting me anymore.

Your love isn't shielding me from pain or catching my tears anymore because you're the reason why they're falling and I cant help but to resent you a little bit for that.

And I can't help but to hate the war that stole you away from me

And I can't help but to despise every bullet lodged in the hearts of the women whose lovers won't be coming home.

And I can't help but to feel guilty that I'd rather it be them than us.

Us, we, you and I,

When I fell in love with you, first person singular pronouns lost their meaning because I didn't have to be alone anymore.

You swore you'd never leave me and you aren't the type to break a promise.

That's why I can say goodbye because the inevitable hello will sound so sweet to ears parched of a familiar baritone

And I know my laughter will be like medicine to eardrums that have been traded for wardrums for too long.

So lover my love, I can go the distance, travel mile after mile, stay right by your sided, never wandering and always watching.

My love will take me there.

And when you come home, be assured that I'm ever fonder of you, and that I kept your side of the bed warm.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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