Thursday, September 5, 2013

That Time You Made Me Rhyme (and it was bad)

(image credit here)

You are a dust cloud blowing across my empty mind. The reason why I try to make my poems rhyme. The way I try to look nice, or cook fancy stuff even though I don't know a thing about thyme. And oh by the way, this poem kinda sucks, like the fact that at the park we can't feed the ducks.

But it was you. You, with your warm sunshine smiles and scalding hot chocolate mugs, feverish eyes bright when our lips meet and we introduce ourselves to each other repeatedly, through corny songs (but not as corny as this poem-rant) and that way you smile with the corner of your lips, or shouting at each other as we beat the high scores we set at Halo. The way your hair fans out when you lie down on a blanket in that park where we can't feed the ducks, using my stomach or my thigh as your pillow while you lose yourself in those books you love so much.

You are a firecracker, a burst of light against an expanse of black, black sky. I don't know why, but when I'm with you I just can't help but sigh.

Sigh, because I'm happy. Sigh, because I'm sad. Sigh, because I'm scared.

Sigh, because I don't know how long this will last.

The spine of your book pokes me out of my thoughts. You were sitting up, a patch of sunlight on your book and your exposed thigh (those shorts were a really good idea) as you grinned at me, and I felt warm inside out.

"Still with me?" you ask with a grin. I nod.


I will be as long as you let me, I add in my head, as I lay back down and opened my own book. The bright sky was the perfect backdrop to the next words that I read.

You have something... no, someone important. You're a lucky oaf.

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