"I think you're great",
I'm listening, I prompt, and I am.
"You remind me of my tuna fish as soon as I open the can,
and of my mother when she is baking.
You remind me of a bruised child that needs holding,
with no shame.
You remind me of a light that never turns off no matter
how many times I hit it with a hammer
And of an ice cream flavor nobody has heard of,
or a paintbrush with too many bristles."
I'm tempted to pull the fire alarm.
"My blood rushes to my toes and I kind of feel like
I have a sprained ankle when I talk to you,
But in the good way, like when the ocean licks
your papercuts.
I'm never really sure whether you are mine or
whether you are playing a pretend game,
but either way, I'm as happy as my dad was
when I finally sold my pet rabbit on the internet."
I stare at him incredulously.
"You seem like the kind of person who would
eat the insides of oreos for me,
Or maybe I would eat them because I know
you don't like them either,
And you're kind of like an eagle who doesn't
remember whether to build his nest in a tree
or atop of an electric pole.
I'm just trying to tell you that--"
He stops, because I've kissed him.
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