Love takes me, it takes me.
It washes over me and I drown in its tenderness, in this kindness you show me. Love touches me and I drown in the possibility of it, in the mere thought of it.
I thought I was done with this.

What are you made of.
What cursed god-thing courses through your veins, that it bleeds into every one of your words–
  
   hi, honey

I had convinced my heart to still itself whenever it remembered you.
How does all my heart-work (weeks of it!) go to waste
the moment you say hello,
to me.

Dear God, Angel, don’t tell me anything else,
you must know by now, if you do,
I’ll show you this mess, this weeping, this euphoria,

   this foolish hope,
and my sweet, grand fear of it.