One day there will be this moment, when I talk about you to my friend. I tell him how irrational you’re being. How you’re driving me crazy and I don’t know what to do.
You with the dancing poetic heart. You who I can’t help but smile when I see your smile.
She’s always fucking complaining about it. I just don’t fucking understand her.
Her who I spent so many long nights in quiet murmuring conversation. Who held me as I wept. Who I spoke quiet promises to and we looked at one another with secret hopes, so sacred we dared not give them voice.
One day I will take you for granted. Your sweat will no longer smell sweet. I’m excited at the idea of knowing you so long that your beauty is an afterimage. I hope that then I can remember you now, just as now I’m remembering you then.
From now until then we’ll be moving in opposite directions, but I don’t think I’ll see my consideration passing the other way as I pass over you.
You my beautiful promise, whose body my fingertips long to explore.
You my twisted remembrance, for when sunsets become a bore.