i didn't really know until i took that polaroid of you; you had your hand over a candle flame and the shadows dancing between your fingers illuminated the spare patches of snow remaining on the playground. there was no mistaking the draining of my swimming pool of ego as i witnessed you staring out from each ice crystal reflection in awe: your smile tumbled down the slide and spilled into laughter while your voice lilted up the rock wall and sang in triumph at the top -- and this is when i knew i would write another poem about you.
i forgot to mentionΒ Β i've been drinking my coffee black -- and sometimes, for the hell of it, i write love and hate in sharpie on my knuckles because i can't get it tattooed. every now and then i even try to carve your name into the knots and whorls of my spine, just so i can make believe i am the man in that one song you always seem to be singing.