I think too much when I kiss.
If love did not exist,
I would be so goddamn sane.
My poems would be billboards.
Suburbia would be enough.
I would not have to gut myself to find my spine,
crushed into powder,
and brushed on her cheekbones.
My hair would not be a hummingbird’s nest.
My mind would not have to move so fast to rest.

 — Andrea Gibson

I think too much when I kiss.

If love did not exist,

I would be so goddamn sane.

My poems would be billboards.

Suburbia would be enough.

I would not have to gut myself to find my spine,

crushed into powder,

and brushed on her cheekbones.

My hair would not be a hummingbird’s nest.

My mind would not have to move so fast to rest.

Andrea Gibson