Maybe

Maybe saying I love you
is no more or less than saying
I am alive
or saying
I believe in God,

because really, God has opened His heart like a teapot
and poured me full of hot-chocolate-melted love,
stirring me with a life-spoon until
liquid beauty spills down my sides, flowing its way to your lips.

Maybe that's not enough,
and all this God-sourced waterfall
isn't enough to satisfy us

because still I want to dance around streetlights and palm trees,
singing a tune I composed while watching your fingers.
And still I want to wrap
a lip glossed smile, a handful of raindrops,
a library shelf and thirty-two poems
in shiny white tissue-paper
and slide it under your door at midnight.

And maybe,
                                though we crave to give more
                                and come up with nothing but

ourselves, over and over again –

               that is enough.