logic
makes much less of a mess
than this immature child
we call love

i have a bad habit.
at night,
when i can’t sleep
and there’s no more room for me to think,
i drink.
i drink your words off the very page,
the rhymes tickling my throat,
the words dancing on my lips.
i have a bad habit.
when even my own mind
is too busy
for me to visit,
i resort to one thing:
i get drunk on your words.

i was trying to pay attention to your voice, and what you were saying
but instead,
my mind kept wandering to
your crooked teeth,
and the way your eyes crinkle into almonds
when you laugh,
and your t-shirt fitting snugly
around your muscles
and the way your top lip curls down when you smile and
your lips & your lips & your lips.
darling i’m sorry for staring but
you’re adorable,
in a **** kind of way
and the way you glance down at your shoes when you smile
and then back up again
makes me want to kiss you so bad i’m sorry
because i know we silently agreed to take things slow but
i didn’t anticipate you catching me
the way i was caught.
-a.c.b