I like you.

I like the way your eyes go wide.

They're big enough already.

I see the things you hide inside.

You think that I'm not looking.

You make me smile 

more beautifully than anyone.

You make me cry

as the rainfall blocks the sun.

Somehow I like you that way.

You remind me of 

cotton candy and summer days

and L.A. and Del Rey.

And my violence 

waiting to get out.

My violence and sex

waiting to get out,

claustrophobic of my body.

I don't want much,

just little moments like

laughing at your choice of sweater.

But maybe I lied,

as I always do.