I’ve been scribbling words of debate in my notebook

on whether or not I should turn you into literature

like I have with the other ones.

If you were my character

I could keep you forever

and I’d never have to worry about

whether you

stay

or whether you

leave.



I will begin to carry you everywhere

and constantly transform you,

mold you

into something that is my own.

I will reach into you

Pull out pieces of personality

rip out ribbons of thought

so they twirl and mingle with mine.



And suddenly we’re in 1927

close to each other in a city alley

it’s winter

and the snow is pericing us like little swords.

by God is it freezing.



We’re merely words on paper.

Our emotions are protected by quotations

and we’re always grammatically correct



We could fall in love if that’s how the story ends

smoke cigarettes

drink champagne

and talk about feelings



behind a hard cover

with a title.