to the one who played django reinhardt for me on vinyl,
who cooked me pancakes and bacon for breakfast,
who gave human names to the animals at the zoo,
who senses thunder in the air before it happens,
who made me try sponge candy and coffee and good indian food,
who bought me a candy bar with a poem on the wrapper --

on the bus ride back (all 8 hours) I couldn't stop thinking about you
and when I fell asleep, I dreamed of you immediately,
missing you already before I'd even made it home

you're the opposite of everything I'm supposed to want and you're not easy to explain
we run out of things to talk about (or perhaps there's too much to say)
i'm afraid to reach for your hand under the table, to sleep next to you in the bed instead of curling up at the end, or to lean my head on your shoulder, nervous because I don't quite know where I stand

and it's still enough, in an easy, sunday-morning, pajamas kind of way. it's enough to be with you without having anything to say, to drink orange juice from a coffee mug, the electric precipice of wanting to know the answer yet being afraid to ask the question

i wonder if i'll ever stop being afraid of myself --
that i'm too shy, too quiet, too boring,
with nothing that could hold you,
no magnetic field, no gravitational orbit to keep you
you, who is infinitely magnetic.
but how can I want to keep you when I don't even know
what it is that we are?

to the one who grabbed my hand in the parking lot even though your parents were with us,
who let me sleep in your bed while you took the couch,
who looked at me with sleepy eyes and said "come here,"

to that one, the only one --
as long as you keep asking,
i'll always come.