i've always
wanted to love somebody
so much-
that i never learned to like anyone.
you are dangerously close-
like a Molotov
to a dream.
there's a crease in your smile
from when you carried it closed
or maybe
from when the one that last carried it
for you.
there's a thorn in your paw;
a crucifix in your heart that lives
harder
than the winter you saw your
father stumble through.
a laugh in your bones
that echoes awkwardly
what your mother once shone.
and i like it,
all of it.
i dream that you're in my bed-
looking sweeter
than your taste for revenge.
not wearing much at 5 pm
but you're in my bed saying
the things i want to hear.
saying anything.
i wake up.
7:15 in the morning-
everyday. the first thing i see
is Don Quixote
leaning against my wall.
and i can barely make out his voice
all i hear is that it ain't right
to fight a windmill and lose.
and then he tells me
it ain't right for me and you
to be all we've ever been.
not while you
don't exist.
i don't know how not to make mistakes
but i recognize them
when i see them.
i know there's something wrong.
you're why
i sweat when i write.
sometimes i can't blink
or
breathe through our conversations
because there are so many questions
i will never ask you.
i used to ask a lot, for someone.
not anymore.
not since i couldn't explain
what i couldn't explore.
but that thorn is still in your paw.
i wouldn't want you,
any other way.
im trying
to learn how to like you
before i say
i've always loved you.