The songs he wrote were syrupy
The way his fingers moved across his bass
Like he was swimming
Through thick. Thick. Water
The kind you find
In colder parts of the world


The words he spoke were syrupy
The way he let his tongue roll deep inside his throat
The way he mixed laughter into every syllable
The way he’d duck his head with embarrassment

I told him once that I’d like a goat
And the way I touch him
Well it sometimes feels like harassment
It’s just that he’s so
Adorable
And the way that he moves when he’s trying
To express
his pent up joy
Is syrupy  


I told him that I'd like to have a farm
Live without waste
Love as if I were blind
To the darkness we all harbor
But I'm lying
And he knows I'm lying
I'm not tired enough yet


To cultivate peace

I would sometimes stay awake just to hear his laughter
But
You could say his whole life was syrupy
The way he let things pass
By him
with no intention of grabbing hold
Of Opportunity


And I'd like to think that he and I
Are similar in most respects
And it seems as if I care for everyone
And that all I want is joy for all
And it seems that he cares for the little things
And that he cares for me
But we both know
That neither of us care
About much