I opened this page as he said,
"Write what you know,"
And I heard a girl whisper,
"You know I heard once
That writers don't write what
They know; they write what they
Wished they did,"
Guilty I lifted my pen
To keep from tracing that first word:
You.

I read a poem about love
And left my things for someone to steal
Because I did not have a notebook on hand
To write about you

I told my roommate, "Just needed this."
I told my sister, "Yeah, I've heard that song."
I hadn't had tea for hours but I shook
To write about you.

I had to say somehow
How I wore your necklace every day
I had to say that there's a playlist titled, "****
**** ****" about how I feel about you.

I had to write about this one secret thing
That I've only ever lied about
Or said so honestly
That you didn't even notice.

Friends say "I love you" all the time.

When you say it I pretend that you're not 24,
That you hope I don't believe you,
That I don't understand,
When you say, "I love you,"
That I'm that one good thing you say
You don't want to mess up.

I pretend you shake
To write about me.

'Q

I think it's okay
That I romanticize you
Because I will never have the chance
To be disappointed
With reality

We will never waver
Awkward unsure of a hug
So I see you through a sun-exposed camera
Laughing brilliant smiling
Shaggy black hair

I scoffed when people
Wore crosses like talismans
But my idea of you lives likewise in a necklace
You gave me as a joke while
I was falling in love

'Q

If you want to talk of sense,
Find me at midday.
Otherwise speak in riddles
Of bergamot
And fey.*

'Q

I don't want to talk about it.

"I write poetry about people all the time," I say.
("I write about you. Over. And over," I don't.)

'Q

It's easy to believe in God on an airplane.
Mishapen rows of rolling clouds could
Conceivably be His ranks of Old Testament
Angels, the way they were before we gave them
Blue eyes and human faces.