a "love" poem

you: inconvenience
incapacitating
all that makes me
me.
come back.

i touched myself
thinking of nothing important
and the days i take a
ride on public roads
are the days that
i yearn for sleep.

a monk by design,
i indulge in my dreams.
finding interests in the
insipid, fingers crossed
we agree.
i want "you" more
than i want
you,
as if ideas are more important
than the pleasant view.
love should never be an abstract thought,
it should be bedsheets messy.