i feel like i have things to say. observations to jot down in a field book. not final analysis, just notes about the little bits of poetry i might forget.

that i like to hear you talk, because of the things you're saying and not the voice that says them. that it's the quality and breadth of your experiences that fascinates me, not how much time it took to attain them.

once i was closer to you than normal, watching the ocean move while you weren't there, and i think at the end of the evening i'd reached a hypothesis, that you were pretty alright. strange to say it, but somehow it would have been better with you, watching the sun on the waves. maybe you give me hope that there's more to all of this than beauty i can't have.

that your body reminds me of water, because your skin is cool and smooth and at once calm and full of kinetic potential. and much as i appreciate you as a person, your touch sends chills down to my fingers, even if it's been only seconds since..

there was a night in your bed when we slept on our stomachs and your arm was across my back and it felt right. and i didn't sleep on my stomach before you, and i struggled out from under a sleeping man's hands as soon as the first strains of sleep breathing floated up from his lips. why, i don't know, but i am unafraid.

that today a man and a woman were singing my soul (i exaggerate.. or do i?) and i wouldn't have been there to hear it if not for you. and next time i see you, maybe i will say: 'c'mere, baby, and kiss me like you mean it.'

now i have a theory, that you're pretty alright.