you are my love and you spell things the way they sound to you
which make job applications comical.
sometimes i wake up with the wet of your goodbye kiss on my lips and the feeling that a banana must feel when it is stripped of its peel
i know without knowing that you whispered in your gravel-pit morning voice to my sleepy ears:
i will see you soon
i dreamed i was a little boy with no coat at a bus stop and i dreamed i adopted two pitbulls who were mean to me and i dreamed that a building ate you up and i couldn't find a way in
i drew you a crayon picture of it all and i spelled things the way i was taught to spell things because i knew you would smile at it regardless