If your eyes were the Atlantic Ocean-
No matter how strong the ship.
Or how accurate the navigation system.
I’d still get lost.

Everywhere I imagine myself going-
The vacations I have yet to plan.
Cities I have not yet seen.
I imagine waking up there with you.

That’s the thing about writing.
You think if you can confess your vices poetically enough, they’re not vices at all.

You be the church, I’ll be the steeple.
I’ll shout my love for you to all of the people.
Let it be seen from blocks away.
Let no winding road or large oak hide my exaltation of you.
I can not pack you away with the ***** in the basement.
The hymns must be sung.
Let us rise.

I got angry at you today.
But I don’t think it’s my fault that I want to be exactly where you are all the time.
After all, you made me this way.