Maybe I should stop calling
all the little things as poetry
the pitter-pattering of the rain
in our rooftop at 3am
drowning our doubts and worries
Maybe I should stop calling
the midnight stroll in downtown,
your beautiful laughs as we
eat our Robertos,
basking under the moonlight in Muelle
as a bunch of words that rhyme
Maybe I should stop calling
the smell of your cigarettes as poetry
how it puffed out of your lips
and how I took it in mine
As I took you
harmful, toxic
yet euphoric
or how it felt the way your lips touched mine
for the first time
and the time we didn’t know was the last
Maybe I should label it as something instead,
the way the sun can never be compared to you
the fire under the moonlight
and our raging infernos
keeping us warm
Maybe I should stop calling
what happened between us as poetry
just because it wasn’t good enough
to be called a story
It was vague
and short
and it didn’t even rhyme correctly
Maybe I should stop calling us poetry
in hopes we could be read as something more
than what we actually were
because darling, maybe we weren’t poetry
and darling, maybe ---
We weren’t love either
***
whatever we were, I loved it.
xrxs, 24/7/2020
