Only the obedient know what they want.

They’ve seen enough of the world
To know the size of their appetites,
And the flavors they most enjoy.

They dedicate themselves to these limitations
As though they have more honor than those
Who have not stopped searching for more.

You can tell a true lover by the gifts they give.

When you only get them on occasions,
dutifully,
when millions of people probably got the same thing,

Love is coerced.

The true lover finds you gifts
randomly, accidentally;
the world is the gift shop
for a museum about you.

She brings them to you
in cupped hands,
like a child who has found a lightning bug.

The cuff-links you didn’t know you need,
the poet you love
who just wrote a new book,
a small notepad that fits in your pocket
because you love to write.

The occasion is always,
the reason is just because.

The gifts are the reflection of your presence
in your absence,
and you will never throw them away.

You’re often in love with strangers,
And still too young to recognize
That none of your fantasies
Have ever become real.

The strongest emotions you feel
Are for those with whom you’ve interacted the least,
The places you’ve never gone, and the things you have yet to do.

With a promising future ahead of you,
You expect nothing from the present.

But someday you will be arrested by your first wrinkle,
And feel old in a bar.

You will no longer look hopefully into the future,
But woefully into the past.