Love is big lines. Love is terrible aches. Love is tall people with their heads down. Or the smell of something burning. My eyes tracing a line through the air, weird contrails overheard. Love is two deep claw marks in a cloud. A very wide pool of motor oil. A bunch of colors, all of them black. Love is you and me swelling like sea lions. Or two citrus fruits. Rinds set to pop, navels swaying, juice in the corner. Go ahead, lick the tip. Blow a kiss. Crash your plane. Love is you in a doorway asking me to leave. Love is okay, I'll go soon. Love is you're right, I'll go now.