Poems About L

The dog does not remember your promotion. The dog does not remember your argument with your mother.

Nobody sits where they're supposed to.

Hay palabras que se quedaron en la garganta— no por cobardía.

They weren't lying about the green. But they didn't tell you there'd be forty shades.

I loved her the way Poe loved— not with sense but with fever.

Two oranges in my jacket—heavy as the future, round as the world I wanted to give her but couldn't afford.

I love you the way women have always loved women—quietly at first, then all at once, then with a fury that rewrites the rules.

There is a dialect spoken only in the dark— not because it's shameful.

Children don't walk anywhere. They haven't learned the adult art of getting from one place to another

Home is not the address. It's the sound the lock makes when you've been gone too long.

The lights go down and we become anonymous— a room full of strangers agreeing to feel together.

I've been trying to describe your eyes for six years and I keep getting it wrong.