i think in my own perfect paradise, things would be so similar, yet so different.
i loved driving down the road, sticking my head out the window to hear the tires crushing against gravel, the chill wind driving my wet sleeve to flap in the wind, and the booming low chords of an acoustic guitar seeping through my speakers.

the moon was high and bright, and i felt that god was staring straight into me

but i wanted it to be us
sticky hands pressed together for too long,
hands that feel better together than apart
a necessity
not a treat, or a present

i don't want your lips to be my reward
i want them to be my routine, my way into your soul
again and again
and again

and as i found myself sitting alone in that church parking lot,
the first night of summer,
looking up at a moon i knew you were drunkenly looking at far away
i wished it could've been with you

a you with no rules
no ifs, ands or buts
just
simply
you