Love is like a boy having hot porridge in his mouth.
Yet unwilling to let go.
A poet folds his lover’s name into a song
And rolls it around his teeth.
He silently chops it into letters,
And sews her into a fine song.
Father always said in his few moments of sobriety,
When you find love,
However small like a firefly,
Tend to it till it becomes an inferno.
Though it hurts, don’t spit it out.
Hold on to it as a boy holds hot morsels
Between his teeth,
Unwilling to let go.