i could write about the sun
or the sea
or the terrier that lives on 5th,
i could write about my dad's baseball cap
or his blue jacket that stubbornly refuses to tear,
i could write about life and love
and all those other things that poets seem to know about,
i could write about the condition of my soul
and the slight concave in my chest that steals away the air,
i could write about my favorite song,
the winding drive back from the beach,
the softness of a clean bed,
i could write about all these things
but yet,
               i only seem to write of you.