you know you’re in love,
when she creeps up your pillow
and caress you with her willow;
when she lights your evening blue,
and ignite the ballroom,
just for you.

you know you’re in love,
when you see her
on the street,
down the road,
flipping through Stray Birds pages,
bearing on her shoulders no load.

you know you’re in love,
when you find yourself crossing out
yet another circled-in-red labeled,
“her birthday”; that’s what it’s about.

you know you’re in love,
when flutter the butterflies
in your belly, and your legs
wobble like jelly down the alleyway,
every time you see her, every day.

you know you’re in love,
when a man hard as you,
after baptism of blood and whipping
from your boozed father’s dripping
wet hands, your eyes can still
find their glitters and beams,
every time she sings.

you know you’re in love,
when all of these above,
along with gales and doves,
are gone with the wind
from Terabithia.