I've started to wonder
how much *** you had
in that salty
Subaru summer
you won't shut up about.

I was just about to admit
that nothing ever changes.
Then, you had to go and get beautiful.

In the church of strong spirits,
we carry our own crosses,
slouching towards morning,
for some sour barley god.

Why are you trying to get me to hate someone right now?
The world's not ****** enough,
you gotta spread the news?

I walked down
every single aisle,
couldn't find anything
I needed.

People can't stop praising
your laugh and your wit.
They tell me every day
about your very long legs.

But me,
I love your deep cuts,
your cultic elbows,
your hidden hairs.

I've been keeping track
of each shudder and smirk,
making field notes
of your apologies
and your
demands for apologies,
quick sketches
of your grace.

One day you won't surprise me.
Then I'll put you in order.