I don’t write poetry.
But your name rhymes with sky
and it rolls in my mouth.
I don’t write poetry.
But I still feel your hand on my hand
as if your thumbs left indents.
I don’t write poetry.
But our hips brushed at the stoplight
and I couldn’t say Go.
I don’t write poetry.
But the names of those men
sound all wrong in your throat.
I don’t write poetry.
But you hugged me too long
and I never wanted to leave.
I don’t write poetry.
Because when I mumble the words, I like you,
The words can never do justice for what I really feel.