Love can only be described the way it is lived:
in parts,
hoping that the whole makes sense, even though we know none of the pieces do.
Love 1A: Love is a sandwich.
Everything we do can be reduced to the layering on of parts,
to hoping we get the order right.
Love is a sandwich.
Both are silly little things that didn't exist before we created them.
We put both in our mouths.
Love 1B:
I fuck like a hurricane!
(cheering)
Which is to say nothing of its sudden onset or its volume,
only that it takes an entire team of scientists
to predict when it will happen.
I...
(cheering)
I...
I fuck like a tornado!
In here, we will be safe,
but around us,
things will be destroyed by our excess.
And I promise, baby, I promise,
we will not end up in the same place that we started.
There is a reason that I always turn my sex into a joke.
It is so that when it does not happen,
I can pretend that it is not because I am too fat or too lonely
or going to die alone.
I can pretend that it is because you are not ready for this earthquake,
for these aftershocks.
Love 1C: If there is anything more
like the way I fall in love than a children's cartoon,
I haven't found it yet.
There are eight women who say I am the perfect man,
that any woman would love to have me.
I have asked three of them out;
they all said no.
We still hang out, but, boy, it gets awkward sometimes.
If there is anything more like a tunnel painted onto a wall than this,
I haven't found it yet.
I am all Wile E. Coyote, all lonely hunter.
Love 2:
Love is the only thing that all of the songs are right about.
Love is all that you need.
Love is a cold and broken hallelujah!
Love 2B:
(beatboxing)
Love is knowing that sometimes
your words will never be enough,
that your heartbeat will never be enough.
Love is knowing that sometimes
you're going to have to rely on someone else's beat
to make your story work.
Love...
(cheering)
Love...
Love 3:
The heart is a terrible metaphor for love.
All of you, please stop using it.
Delete every poem with it in it.
Love is not a muscle.
It cannot atrophy from lack of use.
Love is an organ. It can always sneak up on you.
The lungs are a much better metaphor for love.
Please always use them.
That inhale is the moment of excitement you feel when you first meet someone new.
The exhale is that moment of hate we all fear we will feel
if this does not work out.
But that moment between breaths where your body could be anything--
that, that is love.
Love is... (breathing heavily)
(cheers and applause)