i get intoxicated by the smell of
Sharpies at 2am and the sound of your voice
on the phone and you're so ******* tired but
you refuse to hang up first because of
some line you read in a book

we would be the perfect love story, we really would

because you're the one who laughs at my corny jokes
and you're the one who brings me chocolate when i'm sad
and you're the one who taught me how to write poems in a way
and
i love you so much but you must not see it

i thought it was a phase, i really did
and you probably think i'm over you
(because i told you that)
and sometimes I just wish that all hell would break loose
so that you could see how much you mean to me

*you always did have a thing for disasters;
blinding hurricanes of tears and imperfect tsunamis
of missed opportunities and lost love