you said something about how you wished you didn’t just write down thoughts in your phone you said something about how you were tired of keeping them hidden in one of your songs that you don’t often share
but you should share more often i like what you have to say what you share
you touched my hand today for a skittering second when i handed back your computer charger maybe the cord is just missing some wax because it made me jump a little
why can i feel you breathe? why is gravity a little stronger around you and your big dumb beautiful curly-haired head?
“atlanta isn’t that far away” neither is your desk but it feels like there’s an ocean in between your shoreline and mine
i wish i’d brushed your shoulder on the couch or touched your painted sleeve or done anything at all to get closer at the light show on the night where everything else so briefly stood still
yes i’ll laugh at your intellectual jokes yes i’ll write poetry for your start-up zine yes i’ll take photos for free for you yes i’ll be there but know i’m fragile though around you in your orbit pulled by your gravity