Untitled, about you.

do you ever write about me?
the question hangs there
over my head and i wait for it to fall, gallows-quick
my mouth opens and the words no, never, why and which one did you read?
tumble out one after the other as my heart yells
Yes.
YES.
In everything there is a part of you
your voice, slow and patient, angry and quick
your smile - tempting and enticing
the curve of your hip, the way your skin looks in the sunlight
they find their way into my words
they are a part of me, of you

Yes, again, yes
in every line there is a piece of you
that thing you did last tuesday that pissed me off
the time you cupped my face in your hand
the way your hand moves when you think I'm driving badly
your sigh when you taste your first sip of a good coffee
they're always in my words

And yes, yes,
sometimes you will know it's you
sometimes you will think it's him or her or them
and sometimes you'll be right
and sometimes it will be about a man on a bike in the rain
or a girl I saw on a bus by the sea.

And I will always worry that you'll recognise yourself in the one that
breaks your heart or makes you angry
or worse, that you'll see him in the one you love
or the one that was always meant for you.