i hate writing about love.
every synonym and metaphor
has been beaten to dust,
and you are worth more than
that.
i guess i'll start with how this
started, like how the truck was stubborn
and how spring is hesitant in Pennsylvania.
sometimes i become angry
since i don't listen to my own
nerves.
i could have resisted when i
idled in diamond park with
salt crystallizing in the creases
of the dashboard,
but i didn't.
i guess i thought you had an
offer, like if i handed you the
chance,
you'd prove my only theories
wrong.
you said i made you do things
you'd shy away from,
like skinny dipping in the public
pool or crying with all your
might.
i couldn't help but build you a
fort to stand strong after the
battles.
i wanted you to touch the lanterns
hanging in the sky
because they remind me of
you.
your skin can turn to
satellites when your hand
links within mine
and the static clears in
your eardrums when
the focus is on velvet
bodies and fired hearts
still searching.
but if you would ever happen
to leave, i'd search in
those lights for
you.