driving
waffle cones, hot fudge brownie.
and flat bread sandwiches.
that i can’t eat.
they sound like a poem
that i would write.
i think that you would be the best thing for me.
when he’s so stressed out
he starts yelling
and pounding on my self-esteem
he knows all of the ways to make me cry.
and he does it so easily, smoothly.
with most people it’s like tearing sclera with a butter knife.
not for him.
but you pick me up,
off the ground, out of my brain.
you make it all okay again.
‘i never said thank you for that..
thought i’d get one more chance’
you’re nothing short of perfect.
i’d go anywhere for you.
i’d do anything for you.
(of course, i wouldn’t doubt love for you.
with you, i know it’s true.)
you’re wonderful.
do you remember how pretty the fireworks were in the sky?
that’s alright, neither do i.