Love doesn’t want no body

Doesn’t want this body

Love doesn’t want to be here.

 

Love right now is outside in the driveway

Sitting against the hood of it’s black Honda

Waiting for the Boss to call back

Because what the fuck is it going to do with this body?

 

 

What the fuck is it going to do with

This amatuer body

With bones sticking out

And flesh flying around

 

This body that has been touched too many times

That has been kissed too many places

That has been infected with too many diseased thoughts?

 

What the fuck is it going to do with this body?

Stick it in a corner of a black leather couch

With children’s pictures hanging on the wall

To curb the edges of the doctor’s room?

Shove it down at an ivory desk

With white fluorescents screaming till 3 in the morning

To make it write more poetry?

Will Love sucker punch me so hard the stars shine and

I wake up in someone else’s bed?

Or till Love can fold me into the middle of a blue tarp

Yank the ends together in a knot

And drop this body off into the arms of someone else down the list saying

“Take this for a change. See if you can make it any better.”

 

Right now, Love is climbing into its black Honda.

As Love leaves this body

Love just keeps driving.

Because at this point what is Love going to do with this body?

 

 

Right now

In this moment

In these months

Love doesn’t want this body.

Doesn’t want no body

That doesn’t know how to love itself.