It happens fast like watching Nascar
from the front row; you don’t know
the procession’s gone past until
the wind grabs your hat
but you’ve had a lot of practice at this game.
We’re talking the same shit from yesterday:
the buses that came late,
the roommate who leaves a trail of hair and skivvies,
all the movies we want to see the Friday we both get paid
when I suddenly get this cramp in my neck.

It lasts half a second,
the bounce and come back,
and I laugh to cover up the motion
like Haha, what? No, I was just thinking of something funny.
You know me too well for this lie to slide past.
You were checking out that girl’s ass, weren’t you?

It’s not untrue I might have had a decent view
of her backside but why try to hijack this conversation?
You were talking about that crossover between
the Flintstones and the Jetsons, weren’t you?

Aren’t you tired by now
of how many guys have gone comatose
right before your eyes
and left you counting your toes,
waiting for everything up here
to come back live?

It’s survival of the fittest:
whoever has sex the most often
gets to live on through his children is how Dad
explained away his first 3 wives.
Me? I don’t subscribe to science.
Shit like whistling at girls
isn’t some knee jerk reaction;
isn’t some behavioral byproduct of environment
cause Dad ate all of his sandwiches open faced
and with extra pepper but I don’t do either.
I’m a dreamer,
that’s what I’m going to hell for

but the bell curves on that lady’s hips
is another way Pangaea could have split.
Maybe if Israel and Palestine were isolated islands
on opposite faces of the world
but still shaped like somehow
South America is Africa’s left hand
then maybe there wouldn’t be so much war.
Then maybe 4th graders would walk up to maps and say,
Hey! These 2 countries are BFFs
cause they’re different halves of the same heart.

I dream the arch of her lower back
is the trajectory path of the sun
and if I could scrub away her tattoo
with the heel of my palm
then maybe it’d be sunny every day.
And don’t get me started on the cathedrals in her calves;
they’re the tallest buildings in town.

You find it hard to believe
how easy I could fall in love
but all that’s just poet small talk,
fighting to find meaning inside of chance.
The lover would say the real girl for me
has been standing here all along
instead of walking past.

You are my best friend
and it’s no secret I like to make you laugh.
It’s like lighting a firecracker at arm’s distance;
I get taken by the sparks and the flash.
The main difference between you and me is
your heart’s made entirely of gold
mine’s just wires and probes.
It’s a metal detector and, girl,
when we get close, it goes

pat pat pat pat patpatpatpat

I don’t tell you, you don’t know
because right now, you’ve got
horizon wide eyes focused on internships and school.
I’m playing mix and match with white lies and half truths.
I wouldn’t want to commandeer you.
Still, I’m sorry the only times
I ever call you beautiful is in a text message
around midnight when you chalk it up
to me just being drunk, when I’m not,
not completely, not enough to see beyond
the truth that I don’t have the guts
to say it to your face.
Instead, I dress it up in song and dance,
pretend like I haven’t been waiting years for the chance to tell the world
Yeah, I found the Philosopher’s Stone,
boundless source of energy and creator of worlds,
and it’s all in her pants.

It’s getting harder to keep quiet
when you just get louder about your diet.
Tell me, what genies have been living inside of your mirrors?
The glossy cover of that teen fashion magazine
is a looking glass, a vampire’s kiss -
you’ve grown so thin, you’ve got me thinking
you’re allergic to even water
and invisible to your own reflection.
You know, you never asked me if I thought you were pretty.

I think you should and you shouldn’t be surprised by the answer.