These poems are weak
Like your knees
Walking with a limp
These poems are weak
Like my own knees
Hearing you say my name
With the memories that flood my mind like tsunamis
Losing my wallet
Kissing your lips
Outside the library
Waiting for Nancy
God, how it aches
Yet feels so good to hurt
I can't even compare
My pools of honey to her
Swirling sea of golden flakes
I'm nowhere close
With my greasy, flat mop
And her springy, yellow locks
The homesickness I feel is nothing
To the longing I possess of your
Hands roaming my body
Your cheek cupped in my hand
As we collided lips and fogged up windows
YOU ARE READING
please don't tell my mom I stole her car in 2015 to drive to Chicago at 4 a.m.
Poetry"we don't read and write poetry because it's cute. we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race."
