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.
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