I always say I like it when you smile.
I like your smile.
Your laugh, I like that it gives me goose bumps.
And you laugh.
Sad songs remind me of you
And I smile.
Words like dark and nothing and pretend.
Like black, loss, death, and the end.
And it’s been raining so hard lately.
I fear you’ll be taken away by a river of
dirty water, concrete, grass and dirt.
Tossing, tumbling with bodies different
from your own touching and bumping,
rotating and swirling and you’ll all utter
niceties: “I’m sorry, oh, excuse me…”
Cars and bicycles, and stuff leftover from
the yard sale next door.
And I’ll absorb all the moisture regurgitated
by the plant-life in the front yard.
Like a sponge.