who knows if the moon’s
a baloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky—filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their baloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where

always
            it’s
                   Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves

You’re cute with your fitted khakis that
I want to burn and bury
And the way that nothing bothers you even when
I yearn for you to care, she

Doesn’t need to know how we call each other late at night
Drugs and darkness our excuse for acting self-indulgent
Excuses formed through guilt, but now we accept them in the daylight
Because it feels all right

I feel all right

I like you in your blue button down shirt that
Smells like your bed and disaster
When that afternoon after I knelt to you
Unspoken, we decided to move past her

I wish I were a writer
So these words I twist and turn, attempting to form thoughts
Analyzed by readers and thinkers and lovers alike
Would more accurately explain what’s going on in my brain

I hope she feels all right

I love her and I love you
And I hate that I love you
And I love that I love you
And I want to love with everything I am

I know this isn’t coming out right at all
What I’m trying to say is I have
Developed these feelings that we knew we would
But said we wouldn’t and

Here I am, exposed