I am ******.
The hum of the car competes for my attention
With the half volume playlist that I made for you
But you are not here.

Sand sticks to my feet and legs,
But I don't think he knows that.
The back of my calves rub against the cloth seats in the back of his car,
And I feel guilty.

You said we were like the Sun and the Moon.
And I agreed, as long as I got to be the Moon
But soon I realized that,
with you as the Sun,
I didn't get to see you too often.
I got sick of your company only becoming
time spent passing each other throughout the day.
I got tired of other people falling in love with how beautiful you were;
I was young,
jealous.
People never fell in love with me.

This is a love poem.
This is a poem for the girl I haven't met yet,
with the long brown hair
and the eyes that always look down.

This is a poem for the girl who thinks this is about her,
and this is a poem for the girl who thinks this is about her.

And it is about you.
It's about your eyes,
and how they don't blink sixty times a minute and
I'm jealous of that,
because you don't have to deal with time passing by as quickly as I do.
And sure, you have a kaleidoscope heart, but
you also have a honeysuckle smile.
And sure, a lot of the time, you see the bad -
but that doesn't mean you can't see the good, either.

I want you to twist my skin between your hands, like an Indian rug burn,
and change me,
because we both know that it isn't as hard as we pretend it to be.
Always look forward,
and adjust me with your fingertips until I'm whatever color you want me to be,
because I'll change for you.

You probably understand. Or maybe you don't, after all. Either way, it is jumping around inside me and if I don't let it out soon all my carbonation will fizz up and run over the side of my glass and I don't want to waste all that sweetness.

I want to kiss you underwater.

I want that kiss to be the only thing keeping us alive. Down there we are foreigners, aliens. Grasping, I want to feel your flesh in stark contrast to the smooth wetness all around me, like a secret.

All that life where we cannot live. Exotic, forbidden, so lovely. I am sick with love.