Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

Castles in Spain

Love is like a biting dog,
At first it is frozen and hungry from separation.
You reach out,
But are mindful that this breed is rare, undomesticated in a sense.
With this love comes craving touch.
But remember it is uncomfortable with your scent.

So you feed it.
You water it as if it were a wandering Jew on a coffee table.
You feel the roots becoming stronger,
But then it snaps back and runs to its box.

Here, it feels safe–not with you,
Not with your words or reassurances.
Because that dog is always looking back for that bone thrown to him once.
He ignores these bones that are laid out for him now.
Maybe they taste different,
Yet, the love is filling up inside you,
Like an overfilled tub.
In the meantime it fogs up the mirrors and unrealistically adds to those castles in Spain.
When you realize this dog will never be reciprocal.
This dog will choose that pillow over you.
Yet, you love anyway.


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