I don't like writing about you, because frankly I don't know how.
I can't write about the way you looked today, because then I'd have to
mention how your whole face was engulfed by your smile, like a wildfire with endless oxygen that's exchanged between us. I'd have to include the manner in which the waves of your silken hair fall on your neck, and creep across your collarbones, like a full moon's tide. I can't write about your sense of humor, because I would have to go into detail about how it brings out my goofy smile, and we've already covered that. I can't elaborate on your eyes, because all the dictionaries in the universe couldn't team up and find a proper adjective to do so. The truth is, darling, I could write about all these things, but there isn't a single way I could twist my words to form you on this piece of paper, and frankly, it could never do you justice.

Let us go then, you and I,    
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Let us stroll, hand and hand,
While the cities fumes encircle us, like a marching band
The moon will wake from its drunken stupor
Only to ask who the hell we are
We’ve met before, you say
As I steal a glance, and we walk away

Down the nicotine streets
Past the rusted pub on the corner
and the funeral mourner
With his stolen beggars cup
That no longer contains coins
But instead a lover called jack

He looks familiar, you say
Always in the last pew, back in May

You haven’t been back to the chapel since
Constantly wondering, and questioning the Prince

As our heels become worn
and the sun begins to yawn
We arrive back
at my little brick place
The steps a little too steep
and the roof a little too slanted
The flowers never planted

Next time, you’re following me, you say
As I slip the key into the lock, and you walk away.

The synthesized chords in the background
Were all starting to sound the same
As I took the last sip of
Whatever fine liquor had been served
On this evening that had been filled with
Harlequin girls
And their lustful partners
Hoping to one day
Remove their masks

I went driving yesterday
In the little blue pickup
That my folks used to own
I almost went by their old place
But realized
That they weren’t home
And hadn’t been
For quite a while

I wonder if someone
Will think of me one day
And drive by my little old place
In their little old pickup

there was something about those nights
i laid illuminated
by the light of my phone
and the light of her
with the blankets as drawn out
as the silence between rooms

i thought about the little moons
and craters that lay within her eyes
and the constellations that ran
across her lips and down
the deepest crevices
of her neck
like a marathon

i want to go to space
but not the one that floats
above the ceiling
or even below it
but the one that lies within her
and within me