still nine at heart

You smell like an unfamiliar address, and I look like a stranger with perpetual eyes I wait for the rain like I wait for you in mid-July, but it's summer now. You look like a poem, and I sound like a song; long stolen. I write letters addressed to unfamiliarity and blame you for everything else I'm still nine at heart, getting lost with people around. You're twenty-six years away searching for me in a different crowd. If I didn't look like a stranger, perhaps You would've found me by now. I still taste half rotten and blame you for everything else.