The reach between us

 Love comes with so many bells and whistles, giving itself a million different fantasies, names upon names, last names, first names, middle names. Love comes with so many contradictions, so many false starts, and independent assumptions. Love comes with so many demands, as if it is a lover already expecting you to clean and nourish it, feed it from a nipple, sing it to sleep. Love comes heavy handed with a feeling no one person can ever do enough. It comes with a treaty while it wears a gun. and it gives false statements, like a politician. It is a woman that a man can never see, and the man that beckons a woman to give up everything, even her own childhood to run after him.
It is the beginning of everything, and also the end, as love can never stay. It must become one with the dirt, it must feed off the kill, it must ask for more then what we can give. love is not beautiful, as the poets claim through misty eyed words said across rivers and up to towers. Love is the beginning of hate. Love is caring too much about the impossible, love is thinking someone's cold back is their face. Love is falling from heaven, over and over again, attaching yourself to the dream of climbing back up that same stair case.

Love is the otherside of a moment that can never be said out loud, the winter that comes every season, the bottomless fear of every possibility. Love is logic, even when logic is blind.
Love comes like magic, and leaves like the devil, giving us only its trail, as if we could leave our own lives to follow it somewhere else, deep into its next victim's mind. deep into the fore long possibility of a world that runs on increments of time.

And we sit and read eachother through magazines, and newspapers, we sit and love each other over tea and phrases, and we stare into their eyes, assuming the gulf between us is love. but only in that reach down, does it matter.