On Love

the average poet
would describe
love
perhaps as a delicate flower,
beautiful,
fleeting,
et cetera.

i am not one much for poets,
nor love.

as it stands,
i find love
much like a wet cat
trapped
in a rusted-over
garbage can,
rolled at a ferocious
velocity
down a pockmarked, concretehill.

you'll probably feel like shit
afterwards,
but as it stands
you can't help but smile.