i'm good at loving books
and their weathered pages.
i'm good at loving soft bed sheets
and freezing air conditioning.
i'm good at loving music
lingering in my ears.
i'm good at loving warm coffee
around my spindly fingers.
i'm good at loving cigarette smoke
and collarbone kisses.
i'm good at loving
spiraling breaths of fresh air.
and i'm good at loving the sun and
the moon and the endless stars.
i'm good at loving things
that can't love me back,
that don't have
the power to leave.
and, maybe,
that's why i love them.
YOU ARE READING
tragedy
Poetry[a collection of poetry] tragedy (n.) 1) an event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe. 2) dealing with a serious or somber theme, typically that of a great person desti...
