Not My Best Poem. So Sue Me.

I’m sick of brittle men
Who kiss like birds
With timid, darting tongues.

My torrential love
Would erode most men,
Into smooth, featureless
Shapes without corners
(and the corners are the best part).

It takes confidence
To stick around long enough
For peccadilloes to become tolerable,
And then to become familiar,
And invisible in turn
Until your name turns into an adverb,
And instead of dramatically or obsessively
I simply do things Brandonly
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When I fall,
It will be from such a height
That only you can catch me

(Whomever you are).