Today, I had an urge to tell you that I will write a poem about you.
I told you and you embraced me. I held you tight, careful to not get my burning cigarette in your hair.

You make me happy, which is something I haven't been able to say to anybody in a long time.
And it's constant, it's everlasting. It's beautiful.
I'll giggle and I feel like I'm high.
I am high, but I have not smoked.
Yeah, that's corny and I do not give a single care.
But I give two cares about you.
And I give three cares about holding your hand, not squeezing it too hard.
And I give four cares about holding your body close to mine.
And I give five cares about kissing you.
And I give six cares about us.
And I give seven cares about your hair, not lighting it on fire, or touching it too much.
And I give eight cares about nothing. I'm just not capable.
But if I could, I think they would be about you.