the Sunshine State

Love me 
like luck’s got nothing to do with it.

Like my eyelash on your shirt

is more than just the aftermath of circumstance.

Or if the world, in its quiet, 

mysterious ways, hadn’t wished 

us together, you would’ve gone out to find me.

Not a crystal or elixir,

not a parched man in search of rain.

Love me like the light

looks for something beautiful

to shine on. Which is, everything.

Which is, love me like you see me 

everywhere you go.

Love me like you love the mailman, 

the mangoes, the mood swings 

overhead. (The tears of joy, as well as rage.)

Love me like I am less than my whole self,

the way you love a limb, a knuckle, a nail.

Love me like you don’t love me at all — 

not for who I am. Not for how my hair curls

in the humid, Florida air. 

Love me like you choose to love it here, 

despite every reason not to.

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