A Little Bit in Love w. You

Yea, so I finally gave in and wrote a love poem....thanx to T.Mills, I think im beginning to know what this love stuff is all about....


Sometimes I wonder what love is
Is it when you meet someone who makes you laugh
Cry or smile?
When you wake up and only picture their face in your mind?
And in that same mind, you store memories of a first date,
A first kiss, or a first anything...
Is love when you argue, you don't even care whose right
You just love to hear his voice
When he leans in to tell you a secret
The heat from his breath sparks some internal flame
Engulfing every sensor in your body
'Til all feeling for anyone else is burned out
Is it love when you call that person, there's not enough 24/7's or 365's to finish a conversation
When time if only measured in memories, experiences or photographs
Does love grow? Or is it some instant blossom?
Do we get to pick who we love? How can we tell if they are a rose or weed?
Is love rather a want, then a need?
Do I need him, does he want her?
Like, love to me is when I hate you
But I still come back for more
When after you have cut me so deep
I return for you to lick my wounds clean
To me, love is when I can't tell if these tears are for happiness or because you made me unhappy
If I cry because we are a love story, or because our ending will be Romeo & Juliet
I love the kind of love where we talk through our eyes
And we listen through our hearts
And our stomachs make up our minds
When I tune out my friends
To become in tune with you
And when they say you aren't good enough
And I say, you're right...he's PERFECT
When they roll their eyes and talk from behind one anothers back
But those same eyes are full of some hope they find someone like him
And those same backs, I pat during hugs, as their head lays on my shoulder
Wetting my shirt with hopeless tears
To me love smells not like roses, or something sweet
But like sweat and spit
From the hardwork
It's not red or pink
But black and gold and brown and orange
The colors our skin make when become one
Like love to me can't be expressed in a song
It can't be put into words or melody to hum
Or some hallmark card you sign with the blue ink once a year
It can't be written or typed
. . . so I wasted all this time, when I could have just been in love.