You could absolutely break my heart.
That’s how I know that we’re in love.
I don’t need the symbol of a scar,
so put down the knife.
We’re not swapping blood.
Isn’t it enough
that we stripped down to our skin,
cold and porcelain
like bathers in a painting,
and I told you of your past lives,
every man you’ve ever been.
It wasn’t flattering
but you listened like it mattered.
I feel crazy in ways I never say.
Will you still love me if it turns out I’m insane?
I know what you’ll say
but it helps to hear you say it, anyway.
Some October, in the future,
I’ll run out of trash TV
and I’ll be feeling lonely,
so I’ll walk to karaoke,
sing the song you wrote about me,
never once checking the words.
I hope that no one sings along.
I hope that I am not a regular.
Damn, that makes me sad.
It doesn’t have to be like that.
If you rewrite your life, may I still play a part?
In the next one, will you find me?
I’ll be the boy with the pink carnation pinned to my lapel
who looks like hell and asks for help.
And if you do, I’ll know it’s you.
I can’t imagine you without
the same smile in your eyes.
There is something about you
that I will always recognize.
And if you don’t remember,
I will try to remind you
of the hummingbirds.
You know the ones.
And the baby scorpion.
And the winter lunar halo.
And the walk we took in the Redwoods.
I could go on and on and on and I will
go on and on and on until
it all comes back.
