I am not really in love
but only because I never have been
nor will ever be, I suppose

And nor was it as grand
as they had let me think
And it's never as good as I suppose
A little hearth and home with that drink
and with this tidy heart I sink
It gets a little better with time,
I suppose

And we take a lot of like to start the love
a little hope with which to sail the dove
I want it so badly it gets me a little broken up
I telephone but the static of my voice gets me throwing up
You don't answer right away cause the neon of my number
has got you stopped and wanting to turn away, you say

I wanted so much to love your land
get some hardened hold of your hand
try so hard to catch onto some golden strand
in this beach, some little grain of sand

I suppose I'm a little daft
to think it could be all it was cracked up to be
like some sign of permanence in the
wake of another morning and the next day
and the next day
and the next
next
next
next
next

I'm not really loved
but only because I don't know what it means
because you knew so little of the word
and you kept me so apart for fear of what
could start on the word's promise and virtue

Like it could ever be good
be good

Like I could ever be good
Like I could start on something good
and make a whole world of something
new on the good word of whatever it might
mean to like less and love more,
like I could hold your hand by whatever principle
I was holding you to

Like you could say such sweet words
that I would slip in and out of your head like
the cracks in your skin, like the shafts
of your hair so close to you

I suppose it takes a little more than good will
A little time to start or at least to kill
whatever the word could mean or whatever
it held true For you For me

For the need I keep by my bed like a prayer
hoping to be spared the lonely nights
of more like, less love
and the next night
and the next
next next next next next next next next next next next

And a whole world has passed
in the nights that I have kept
by in silent prayers to the god or
the meaning of the word

I've heard it said, yes, I know,
but it starts and stops without
any notice and I fall back on a thousand next nights to keep me held in whatever fear has kept me from its door - like the plague.

Love is like...