10 minutes left and i hope you're home. you won't be terribly excited to see me, but i bet you are a little bit, because you can feign an unsmile when you see me, accidentally. i do believe there's something so quiet there and unidentified, or perhaps even unfelt, but is waiting to bubble up and burst all over our fucking faces, turning our insides into suprise. this scarf smells good. just kiss me already.
you say you're good at reading people and you look at me for at least a minute and i think, "really? could he really know?" i saw that you use the ones with the gold wrapper. i smiled and pulled exaggerated rumblings back inside eventhough i was more than excited to close your window; there was rain and cold coming thru. you still don't have any sheets on your bed. i have some pink ones.
i'd like to see your squinty eyes in the morning, i'd let in light and with the little sight you'd have you'd see me and smile. squinty-eyed smile simply from sleepyheaded dreamer whose dreams are constellations connecting every loose piece inside his heart. sometimes i almost kiss you and when you tugged on my scarf last night did you see me crumble into a tiny pile, into tiny pieces of things you don't know about? you must have at least seen the fall. woosh.