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I wonder
if you’re a romantic.
This poetry says
that I am
but I don’t understand
candlelit dinners
and heart-shaped candy.
I would rather
have words
than balloons
or petals that wither.
But I don’t
just want
any words.
I’ve had
what is supposed
to pass
for romantic.
These Hallmark verses
and X’s and O’s.
I’ve had sweet sentiments
in generic sentences
meant to sweep
and tumble me into
ducking my thoughts
of resistance.
I want real words.
Lines that ache
with longing.
Stanzas that
sweat passion.
I don’t want
greeting card wishes.
I want your
on the page
bearing the desires
that your lips can’t say.
I’m not a romantic
but I yearn
for the letters
of your soul.


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