"It has been 3 years, 10 months and 27 days since the
first time I saw you naked. Since the night you ripped off your shirt. Tonight in the grocery store I found one of your hairs in my
underwear. I pulled it out in the frozen foods section and screamed 'That
is so gorgeous it could kill a man!' Good thing I’m a
leprechaun. Lucky, lucky. Baby, I have no idea how this will
end, maybe the equator will fall like a hula hoop from the Earth’s hips and
our mouths will freeze mid-kiss on our 80th anniversary. Or maybe tomorrow my
absolute insanity combined with the absolute obstacle course of your
communication skills will leave us like a love letter in a
landfill. But whatever, however, whenever this ends I want you to
know that right now I love you forever. I love you for the hardest
mile we walked together. For the day I collected every sharp knife in the
house and threw them one-by-one on the roof and told the sun 'Listen,
show-off! From now on, you better only give me blades of grass.
Things that are growing and soft ‘cause there’s this girl who says she wants to float on her back
through my bloodstream and when she does I want my rivers to reach the sea.' Do you hear me, lover? Do you know the night you told me about a crush on my ears? I swore to never become Van Gogh and look, baby they’re both still there. Just like my firefly heart is still right there in your glass jar. I never trusted anybody more to poke enough holes in the lid. So in the nights you sleep like a ballerina, I try to snore like a piccolo. And I press my lips to your holy temples and I say 'I crash into things in the dark. Even when the lights are on and I am wrong more often than I am writing and even then I am often wrong.' But when my friends are in the bathroom at the bar rolling dollar bills into telescopes and claiming they can see God I will come to you holding my grandmother’s Bible.
I will press it to your chest and I will bless it with your breath and when you ask if I want to role-play altar boys fucking in the church kitchen during Sunday mass I will say, 'Hell yes.' But only if you leave a hickey on my ass in the shape of Jesus’ palm so I can be sure I got nailed down. Lover, you will never lose me to the wind. You are the lightning that made me fill my chest with candles. You are the thunder clapping for the poem that nobody else wants to hear. You are an icicle’s tear, water in a tulip on the first day of spring. You melt me alive. You kiss me deep as my roots will reach and I want nothing more than to be an eyelash fallen on your cheek, a thing collected by your fingers and held like a wish.
I promise whatever I do I will always try my best to come true.”
Things that are growing and soft ‘cause there’s this girl who says she wants to float on her back
through my bloodstream and when she does I want my rivers to reach the sea.' Do you hear me, lover? Do you know the night you told me about a crush on my ears? I swore to never become Van Gogh and look, baby they’re both still there. Just like my firefly heart is still right there in your glass jar. I never trusted anybody more to poke enough holes in the lid. So in the nights you sleep like a ballerina, I try to snore like a piccolo. And I press my lips to your holy temples and I say 'I crash into things in the dark. Even when the lights are on and I am wrong more often than I am writing and even then I am often wrong.' But when my friends are in the bathroom at the bar rolling dollar bills into telescopes and claiming they can see God I will come to you holding my grandmother’s Bible.
I will press it to your chest and I will bless it with your breath and when you ask if I want to role-play altar boys fucking in the church kitchen during Sunday mass I will say, 'Hell yes.' But only if you leave a hickey on my ass in the shape of Jesus’ palm so I can be sure I got nailed down. Lover, you will never lose me to the wind. You are the lightning that made me fill my chest with candles. You are the thunder clapping for the poem that nobody else wants to hear. You are an icicle’s tear, water in a tulip on the first day of spring. You melt me alive. You kiss me deep as my roots will reach and I want nothing more than to be an eyelash fallen on your cheek, a thing collected by your fingers and held like a wish.
I promise whatever I do I will always try my best to come true.”
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