Don’t forget the Leonid meteor shower.
Don’t forget to shower again.
Like you did last night.
I am not sure how long I will last.
Not without your hands on my face.
Warm and wet.
Want you.
Red mouth on my eyelid.
Inner wrist on tongue.
Your thigh against my ear.
I don’t know how this works.
The mechanics of you and me.
Best understood geometrically.
You’d know better than I.
And you say you don’t know much at all.
Nothing valuable.
I say you are wrong.
You know there is a meteor shower.
You know where the music went.
You placed it gently in my palm.
I placed it up to my ear and smiled.
I say I need you.
For some reason, this doesn’t scare you.
You pull to me like a magnet.
A strong magnet in a junkyard.
You found me and I was in pieces.
I was ridiculous.
For some reason, you don’t run away.
We met and it was good.
We met and it is still good.
Three months and you don’t upset me.
Might be a world record.
In my little world.
A world with you and records.
The fake trees and legs like Legos.
Plastic green grass like Easter melted.
All my eggs are hidden.
You still found me.
I was sitting inside a treble clef.
I slid down to meet you.
You slid your words inside of me.
I don’t want to let them out.
You make me feel like I am just me.
And you are you and I feel the need to tell you.
I tell you that you are handsome.
You feel ugly and laugh.
I feel ugly and laugh.
You make me feel ten thousand emotions.
Most of them are twirling and skipping.
My face is warm.
My hands crave other skin.
We could put our hands together.
We could see what might happen.
If we don’t keep our hands in our pockets.