“August Love” by CSP
I gave up believing in store-bought love at
when a woman three years my junior frightened me
with a panic of pregnancy.
She told me after three hours of travel
that my words would never bring home
bread and bacon
enough to satiate her hungry appetite.
She told me
love was a language we could never share
because support came in at six figures
and writers rarely match those odds.
Bet on me
I’ll be a winning racehorse in this game of life
so call me “Thunderbird” or “Rocket” just
bet on me.
I gave up on things that last when two years were
guzzled down a drain that mouthed my name in
Two apartments. Two lives. Too many hours spent
telling old folks their prescription pills and photographs
would be prepped and ready shortly.
I learned that words can ring out and hurt just like
saying ‘I Love You’
too damn much made the silent nights between us
deafen its meaning.
I gave up.
A life, a love, and a lot of damned dollars learning
what love is
and I found it at the bottom of a red, plastic cup.
I found it at a party where strangers
danced in dazed arms and angles while
I pushed towards an empty couch cushion.
I found it in laughter
in a gap between teeth
and the tangled, twisted sheets of my bed.
I found love
and it found me back.