I Love You Like a Good Game of Skee-Ball
First of all, I never said that.
Second, if I drove a stick
I sure didn’t do it for Jesus.
The manuscripts are warm and the salary
depressing. Behind the stars are blue
and bold, hearts we steer toward bluer skies.
No one knows the speed of joy, and no one
speaks of sinking. I lived the way
a sailor lives, and I’ve seen swallows
starve. For I smell of love
and Suavitel, for I love the way
the sailor loves. For every second
past, a silver captain listens. If this
is the gift, and this, the giver,
then this is the sea you were meant
to receive. This is the rain
you were meant to forget,
this, the star that will not forsake you.
My handmade hypotheses are legions
on, yet no one speaks of drowning.
If I have drowned, then let it be
with you, for you, and fallen birds.
First of all, I never said
that it wasn’t something worth saying.
You were the game
I was meant to lose. But the game
was sweet, and soft, my friend,
and my hand still warm from the weight of it.