Weeknight

You must have just shaved
Yoga looks good on you
It’s either the yoga
Or the fact that you spent the first 18 years of your life
Under the watch of two grounded people
Who taught you to question your faith but not your spirituality
And to ask someone the color of their eyes
But to not take green for an answer
Because they’re not green
They’re green to red, like a turning leaf
Naturally occurring in nature
But not in your world, or at least the one you grew up in
An alien leaf

A bruise on my leg from climbing a tree
Interrogated with a detective’s curiosity and a mother’s concern

I’d be a penguin maybe
A bird whose waxed feathers plunge her into the cold black
Hellbent on defying her nature
But with a wistful eye on both the birds above and the fish below
Whose natures seem a birthright rather than a mutation

Idly tossing last month’s neon prizes
Idly untying my dress and refashioning it around my neck
I can’t believe they let you go to work like that

Your hair is beautiful
You are beautiful
I don’t know anyone like you
And I don’t even know you yet

What are you a fan of?
Idk it’s hard to think of things I like when I’m tired
Sleepdriving here, finding myself in your bed playing with your hair
When I’m tired I’m just a fan of this ball and this room and your voice
When I’m awake I’m a fan of everything

I can’t taste the Thai food you had for dinner
I don’t want you to move to Santa Monica
Stay here in this yellow house
With the yellow chest of drawers filled with elephant sleep pants
Soft on my skin, tangled between my legs in your yellow sheets.