There really is no feeling
like the one I get,
whenever I hear or see
him.
Somehow I relive
every memory I have
in the time
it takes to say his name.
I miss everything that
he is, that he was.
The first time we hung out
we were drinking on
his couch,
until he took my beer,
set it down,
and started kissing me.
He was the typical bad boy,
funky black hair,
that he didn't take care of
but still looked great.
Tattoos all over his body,
his choice of vehicle was
a dirt bike,
didn't get along with
authority,
and he was wild in bed.
We probably could have
been a great couple.
But I never gave him a chance,
and that is a choice I
may regret forever.
For Iowa