This morning I fell in love
with a splattered platter of food
a boy had thrown across the slick tile floor
after being thrown himself.

I helped him clean up the shambles of his chaos
and I told him that
baseball players are just jet skis with no lake
but too much gasoline.

That afternoon, 
between the cool autumn shade
and the stifled summer winds,
I fell in love with the twitching remains
of a dying ladybug
held gently between my soft fingertips.

Maybe this is the absolute love?
The late night phone calls
are swept away by the shimmering droplet of water
slowly cascading past my eye 
along the viridescent body of a leaf

and the reddened faces
in between the sheets of linen
are replaced by my glassy eyes 
floating like globes of pollen 
beyond the wintered cartridge at my feet.