Every time I turn on the radio
It seems like another sensation
singing about their heart.
Bruised, broken, in love, what have you
it always comes back
to a muscle in the chest.
I could be a cynic
but loving someone
from the bottom of your heart
is a bit cliche.
I’d rather look someone in the eyes
and tell them their touch
pleases every nerve in my body
that their presence sends warmth
from my skeletal frame
outward to the surface of my skin.
I want someone to craft with
cutting hearts out of each other’s old t-shirt fabric
I’ll wear your years of stains where ever I go
by patching up a torn up jacket.
while traversing the nostalgia-scented glowing hills
of clothing left untouched in the drawers
guided by a map
left by the wrinkles in the scraps
you may see salvage.
I see the beginning of an undying love.
brighter than your flourescent middle-school graduation shirt
softer than the fleece
lining your once favorite flannel.