love language

you took my picture once and i took that to mean you liked me. 

it was the first good day of spring

a swig of soco in the broad daylight

you were on your one elbow 

taking this life all in

& i had a willingness to be late

to the real world, for once

do you know what that means for me?

a minute tardy makes me sweaty

but i gave all my minutes to you

in the grass, by the pond

with a kiss, and the way i said

"a winter jacket, still?!"

when i took your picture you weren't looking.

maybe you still don't know.

you had a kitchen chair dragged to the window opened wide

ankle over knee, thumb on top of lighter

with a cigarette stuck in your lips

one time you told me women prefer partners

who they deem uglier than themselves

as a sort of security they'll never leave,

an insecurity to feel beautiful-

i didn't read this statement as your in security.

i kissed your eyelids sometimes

because maybe it's human to want to consume

what's beautiful:

your slouchy sweatpants; your blue flannel;

your freckles; your wild hair when you first wake up;

your eyelash curtains opening

and my heart leaping like its IMAX curtains

for the movie i want to see most,

i took your picture

because you're beautiful.

because i like you.

we do not speak the same love language.

you did not understand my "i love yous" when i said them,

how each of my hours was 60 "i love yous" 

faster than you can catch,

your niceness, a hermaneutic mistake on my part

i didn't know what your love would look like,

what shape it'd be in.  everything was love-shaped when i was happiest.

the grilled cheese and the way you caught me in your sheets

to squeeze me silly, the hair i shaved off your face,

a serenade in front of the whole restaurant,

all of it, all breadcrumbs to your bed,

bewitching my hips to your lap,

my teeth to your throat.