You are not Ian.
Wrestling with this statement for years, feeling complete elation and
total devastation over it, doesn’t change its truth.
You aren’t perfect hair and sunglasses. You aren’t pushy hands. You
aren’t plucked guitar strings and cube cars. You aren’t cleverly worded
sentences that draw me away from my religion. You aren’t stolen kisses in the
band room and notes dropped into my locker. You are not sighs of disgust in bed
and a deep musky scent . You aren’t snug white t-shirts and deft fingers.
You are not my first love, but I hope we’re so in love with each other
that it feels like the first time.
No comments:
Post a Comment