If love were to be a groove on a record, your voice would play when I put the needle on it.
If love was a piece of gum under the seat at the movie theater, you would be the stickiness that would attach my leg hair to it.
If love were wet socks, you would be the elastic, still holding on to my ankles under undesirable circumstances.
If love was a sealed bag of dying butterflies, you would be the slight high the little creatures get before dying.
If love was Dolly Parton’s dress, you would be the brightest sequin.
If love was Communism, you would be a proud member of the blacklist.
If love was that song “Loving You,” you would be the shreik after the “la la la la la la.”
If love was a prison riot, you would be the weapons made out of soap and toothpicks.
If love was a dancefloor, you would be the Electric Slide (performed by Sliders who relish in the flourishes).
If love was JFK’s assasination, you would be Jackie’s blood-stained suit.
If love was a hole in a vinyl cab seat, you would be the duct tape holding it together.
If love was hairspray, you would be the non-aerosol spray that allows for pre-teen expirmentation.
If love was repetition, you would be the sensation that makes the repeated sound feel unexperienced.
If love was a suicide pact, you would be the doodles on the heartfelt note.
If love was a pensive karaoke performer, you would be its friend who would encourage it to sing “We Belong” by Pat Benetar.
If love was a mug shot, you would be the smirk.
If love was cosmetics, you would be the shine in lip gloss.
If love was a gap in my teeth, you would be both the piece of corn stuck in there and the dental floss that removes it.
If love was hubris, you would include me in you.
If love was a hoax, you’d still go along with it for fun.

Thank you.