That romantic piece of shit poem
I wrote you
to get us into bed?
The one that sounds like a country song
all treacly and moist
informing you how I’d never give you up
or desert you?
That crap
that seemed to define all of our early days?
Yeah, I believe it now.
I believe it all.
I’ve got that olde thyme religion
and it’s a faith in love
– in you.

I don’t know when it happened
but it might have been
when you twisted your hair
around your wedding finger
right after I asked you to dance.
We never got to it, but
I could tell you wanted to
and whatever was twisting in your head
made me realize
that all the things I’d claimed
to get near to you
were all probably true.
Most of it, maybe
Certainly some.

I’ve been watching Lifetime movies
and thinking about us.
I’ve been hearing pop ballads
and quietly weeping.
I’ve gone into funks
when you don’t call me back
and I’m – me! –
I’m thinking of our future.

Something’s happened to me, baby;
you didn’t do it
but it sure seems like
you’re pretty involved.
I hope we stay involved
for some time to come
so my heart can go on.