He smells like cigarettes and cheap whiskey.
He smiles something radiant,
        and when he kisses you,
              there are fireworks in your head.

He takes your hand and says,
     "You are so s p e c i a l."
Says,  "You are so b e a ut i f u l."
Says,  "You are so p e r f e c t."

And you wonder how many times
he's said those words to other girls.
How many other girls have stood
   in the same position you are.
But he's saying them to you now
and that's all that matters, right?

He plays your favorite sad song while he drives you home
             in the dead of night, but you don't tell him.
You don't tell him how many times
       you've cried yourself to sleep
with those words playing in your ears.

Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face.

You don't tell him but you hope that
somehow,  he knows. Somehow.