A lot of things simply cannot exist together.
Cats and bubble baths.
Paperback books and spilled glasses of milk.
Love and dishonesty.
Innocence and knowledge.
The universe demands that these sets of objects
remain separate, uninvolved with each other,
divorced from all possible contact.
It is the universal law of long distance relationships.
To intermingle them would be
to create chaos, to toy with dangerous flame.
But yet some things are made to exist together.
Sidewalk cracks and yellow dandelions.
Buttered popcorn and cinema screens.
Two sets of eager lips.
Your heart, a hummingbird
fluttering in my hands–
I knew from the moment it landed
that it was meant to live there.
I live for the things
you would not expect to exist together.
For the unexpected perfect fit–
two wrongs lining up to make a right,
opposites not only attracting, but
making sweet love out of the very
conflict of existence.
You and I.
I never expected to love you.
But I do.
I love you like waking up early
and accidentally stumbling upon sunrise.
Like random chance.
Like snow in October.
Like coming home after years
of searching everywhere to find it.
And you clutch in your hands a red carnation
so bright against the gray September rain
it could have been mistaken for fire.