i cannot tell where you stand
or what you think of me
do you tread on dry land,
or do you go through the sea?

your signs are unreadable, your lips are
divine, perhaps a sign that
you are like a traffic light going back
to green, or to red, to tell me to slow my car

but i can’t stop, it’s on a hill
and the brake-line is cut  
and as i gaze out of my windowsill
and see a tree sprouting chestnuts

and they ask me:
why do you subscribe to spotify premium?
and i say that it’s only to put the song
by the smiths with his name on loop
that i might hear his name spoke

your eyes inject me like fentanyl
making me addicted
making me dependent on every glance to live
i’m addicted to your smile, your charm
and all that’s you

he speaks to me about the xylem
and the phloem, meaningless to me when
the only thing i want to do is listen
to him yap, and to gaze at his eyes
like it’s the sun, and i’m a plant

you really make me swoon for you
weak in the knees for the idea
that you would choose to be mine

my eyes sting with tears of
love, kissing my cheeks and embracing
my face in a cover of water

the tears streak down my face, dripping
off of my jawline and falling onto the
peanut floor, flaking off into oblivion

the floor leads to the door, wide open as
the possibility of returning to him
completes itself, and goes out with him

speechless in the fact he could be mine
but could he be with another?
doubtless that he would be able to get with
another. if he isn’t, do i have a chance?

secure in the will of god to keep me on
the straightest path, but what if he’s on the path?