All my favorite songs used to be about myself,
crossing coastal highways and daring
cars to take a swing or wondering how
lonely the air must be
for birds seven stories up.
I spent intemperate days in the shade of linden trees,
dancing at strangers and their children
for subway tokens and some sense of who I am,
yelling into the night
until the cops sent me home.
Then I met you.
We made tacos, lost passports, climbed
honeycrisp trees, and found a thousand ways
to sing together
like leaves in the autumn wind.
And now sometimes I drive slower because I don’t want to leave you alone.
And sometimes I wear gloves because your hands get cold.
And sometimes I get scared because I don’t know where you are.
And sometimes I sit up late because you sleep so beautifully unaware.
You once called yourself “anti muse”
because I hadn’t written verse in a while,
as if broken words were the measure of how inspired I can be
while white noise drowns out this world
and we build a bridge from my arms to yours.
If you’re my golden hour can I be your dying star
or at least occupy the same sky as days pass away? We can argue
over whether I’ve been getting the words wrong all this time.
Maybe it’s not for me to say but I still hear it
as “I’m gonna love you either way.” And I will.
Happy Valentine’s Day 2019