The puppet strings were
always pulled so tight.
They restricted my movement
and my breathing.
Then you cut them off
With no
Warning.
We dance in the car
We hold hands
We do not take instructions
From cues prewritten
In teenage romance novels.
You don't listen
To indie pop.
You don't even like poetry.
But you like me
Even when you pretend
Otherwise.
The night you kissed me,
You spent thirty minutes
Talking about cars in the cold.
I didn't understand a word,
But I loved every minute.
We aren't delicate China,
We are a red sports car
On our way to the Smithsonian.
We aren't baby steps and blushing.
We are red sharpie,
Rewriting Rules For Happiness.
We are *******,
Pushing buttons until they jam.
We are awful singers.
We are louder than the radio.
We are just a moment
But it's a moment to look back on.