I miss that boy in New York:
he was so honest with me, so naturally genuine and humbly giving.
After Miami I couldn’t bring myself to ask you questions
the girls, the girlfriends, the past that no one asks you about..
.. and so I’d rather not know than hear you go silent about the truth.
The stroll back to the flat through 9th and 16th was cold and fluttering
past the Dream, you held my hand and warmed me up
I smiled into your neck and you kept your arm tight around my waist.
You asked questions about me, and told me to not leave you.
I made you promise to wait for me.
We were humoured by our childishness, had no filter when we spoke,
Even the fast wind seemed romantic somehow.
Now don’t ignore your role in this- I push you away with criteria and required words, you also do things that of course flick me away.
Shut down my few words on paper, I’ll shut down your two sweet gestures.
Make me wonder if you would or not; if your birthday and the Arabs in LA will be the final pieces of glass to smash.
And let me not remind you, the last time I was with your selfish self, alone and frustrated, I had to endure that name pop on your phone; I nearly convulsed with bile.
I’m catching flights, waiting and looking to run. That’s true.
But I’m sorry, I don’t see your hand holding tight, flying places to be with me.