I Am Watching You Like the Minutes Before Dawn
When my world tips over into a flux When my language is a painting you know by heart.
When I have nothing left but angry I am wearing something lacey and you are holding an eraser for my caving in.
And you wash rice. And I don't. And you play nice and I won't.
And you are coughing this cross-word puzzle jigsaw backwards into the rind of my heart so even when I run you can't get out of me. This is hard. I am remembering the mornings you hold me when you're mad about me and what that means: I am re-thinking the walls in here yellow, a bittersweet melon. Tumbleweeds, and three peanut butter n' jellies a day.
I am picturing you; a helpless question in rhetoric.
An obvious imperative. You are my magic. Deep inside my little case words, moments into the staircase I hide behind. I have loved you before you knew I didn't know-- and before that I lied. I pick pocket your rocket ship and I love the ride. I kiss chase the days we have saved up the ones most people don't get in their lifetimes, And I use them for you, just later on. Butter them up in an ocean blue time machine in a helium filled heart that blows bubbles when asked. I wish that when I was afraid we had a sailboat and I could sing it from lake to air and when I left you notes on your pillow you would know that I put them there to say.
Thank you, for loving me although, Thank you for loving me although.
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