kissing you felt like
swallowing fire, like drowning
in thin air, like causing an earthquake
under just my skin

and it was perfect

the first time i went to see
your band you said, "well
now you know we're
nothing special" but god i
can't even tell you what
bubbled inside of me just
watching your fingers on
your banjo (something i
had only seen in your
living room until then) and
that little sway you do on
the slower songs rocks in
the background of my
quietest dreams. every
movement you make is
what i consider the most
special act on the planet.

You have filled
me up with
dust, and I
mean that in
the best way
possible. It's
the kind of
dust that you
blow off of
grandfather
clocks in the
basement of
antique malls,
the kind that
is wise and
has seen it
all (even us
sneaking a
kiss in the
corner), the
kind that
sticks
around.

it was sunday night when you broke
the silence by asking me what i was
thinking about, and i admitted that
i was thinking about the rain before
leaning my cheek on my palm and
turning my head towards you, and
i asked you what you were thinking
about,

and it was quiet, and you unbuckled
your seatbelt and shifted your body
and admitted that you were thinking
about me, and when i leaned over the
console and placed my hands on your
neck; when you pressed your forehead
against mine without smiling; when we
just stared at each other and you silently
told me that maybe we really weren't
just friends,

i was thinking about you, too