I liked dancing around your living room
and singing Bob Dylan to your cat,
while lying on the floor.
I liked sipping from a wine bottle
and denying your kisses
from the perch of your kitchen counter.
I liked talking too much.
And I loved when you dry ****** me like a 14 year-old
and how much we laughed our ***** off that night.
I liked when you fed me cherries, naked, in bed
And when you told me my feet stank.
And I really liked when you asked me to come to the Farmers Market,
even though I said no.

There’s something about 6 AM.
Not the 6 AM where you groggily wake up,
stumbling your way to the coffee maker to finish a paper,
But the 6 AM where you’re still up,
because at 2 you decided to go swimming
and when you finally walked to his house at 4,
you stood in the middle of the street

and looked as far as you could
in either direction
just to see the lights change
for nobody.

When he took your hand
and led you down the slanted sidewalk
to his unmade bed,
the sky colored the window gray,
and didn’t tell you to go to sleep,
or wake up
for anything.

All there was left was
you and him and
your leftover tequila buzz.
And even the inhibitionless ***
lost its inhibitions.

It wasn’t a show for anybody.
It was pure. Raw.
The kind of *** you have with yourself.

You want to frame that moment
like it's a dream you had once
that stuck with you—
that turns your cheeks crimson,
when you catch his brown-eyed gaze.

My green Volvo perching in pine needles
we make it through the clearing.
The uneven rock greets us
while the boats pass by
trying to make out our figures,
but seeing limbs in all the wrong places.

It was still winter.
Do you remember that?
We thought it was warm out,
but it was just the sun that we hadn’t seen in months.
Your jacket cushioned my head.
We thought the boats knew.

I can’t remember what I said right before…

I kissed you.

I think I was wearing your blue and orange hat,
the one with the pompom
(You look ridiculous in it).

I’m sure you thought I was cute when I
took it off your head
and clicked up the sidewalk backwards as I put it on.
I probably thought I was giving you ****-eyes.

I thought you’d think I was crazy when I showed up at your door
and rang your doorbell,
(like eight times)
at 4:37 AM.

But I just wanted a kiss I could remember—
one I could accept my diploma with.
Not a face-full of beard
and a blurry hint at what color your eyes
might have been
when I…
               took
                         a step
                                     back.

I wanted to kick off my black Frye boots
that made me taller than you on the hill.
I wanted to shave that beard
to see your face for the first time.