We say crazy with endearment
like the word itself is more sane
than sanity, more full

than lips locked– and I imagine
our kind of crazy lacks diagnosis–
and I like living in anomaly

indefinable and unreasonable.
But it’s a crazy I can cherish,
not some schoolboy fantasy

tucked within folded notes
passed along rows of textbook
denotations– no, I want you

and your connotations, and
every avalanche caused
through our tangled crazy.

I want you something crazy–
we can be two sheets, wind
be ******– and I’ll be ******

if I ever knew a better place
to feel so steady than right here–
right next to crazy,

your crazy I love.