By AMANDA CIROCCO

If love is a boomerang,
you’re a quick slap shot to
the outside corner,
never scoring a goal.

If love is sweet and suckle,
you’re a sour berry
dripping poisonous desire over
me, asking for more.

If love is that,
Then this is not you.

If love is a game,
your passing GO on Monopoly,
collecting rent and cashing out
at the bank.

If love is a blissful slumber,
you’re waking me up
every hour.

If love is watching the morning sunrise,
we’re staring up the moon at
a quarter to three.

If love was you,
well then,
I don’t know what
love is.

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