if we were alone, I would have
held you close,
turned you around, and kissed you,
rested you against me,
put up that armrest in between us
and sat in warm comfort together
but we were not alone
and I am absolutely parched for you

Acrid acid in the veins
                       perfect storms over rear horizons
                       She kisses trees in desolate parks
              and wanders down the city light parades
                      alone
                          Oh, yearly comes the fair
                                         or the rains
                  or that special way in which the city sleeps
               Falling diphtheritic on swollen grounds
                       and rolling around
                           doing rounds
        shooting all these fantastical clowns
                            Ah, to die
                                              ah to die

I want to be worried about.

Not in the "she'll do something reckless" way.

But in the:

Did I say that right?
Does she like me back?
Does she love me back?
Would it be weird to text her and tell her I had a good time?
Even though I just saw her is it weird to call?
I miss her voice, does she miss mine?
Do I need to tell her I love her more?
Am I telling her I love her too much?
Does she miss me?

kind of way.

I wonder if you
ever wore your
heart on the
sleeve
of the shirt
I stole.

Regardless,
I'm sure
that there's space
for mine.

They come in waves.
Kamikaze planes or
lovely flowers and sweet lullabies.
Blood boils,
slapping against my skin,
Sometimes.
My love is seasonal,
It won't stay.
Don't expect anything from me.
You will be bitterly disappointed.

I love the way you exist,

Because you're so **** good at it.