I'm still writing poems to you all the time,
Smearing ink off the dry erase board
With the heel of my hand,
So I'll wake up hungover
With black palms and overlapping words
Mapped all over this white board.

In theory all of my feelings for you
Get washed away this way,
Every bottle of wine anew,
But in truth I whisper them in my sleep
And know them still at sunrise
Like it's a surprise after all these years
That I still love you
Like I do