crooked noses

we fall in love in those in-between moments, 
like when the sun is buried right at the brink of 
that fine line and if you want to know the truth,

the boy i sit next to in physics drew the horizon.
his name is Cameron and in Scotland, that means
“the essence of deviation.”

his feet have always followed a wayward path,
his hands grip things much too loosely to mean anything. 
he crosses his heart and swears to God for everything

and when i think about him, most times i want to
shake him by the shoulders and say: 

show me how you cut the world in half. your blueprints 
must’ve been just a little crooked, you made the skyline 
an eternal smile; how do your lungs find all that breath
in all these in-betweens?

Cameron is the boy who resets broken noses. he’s always

had a hard time looking forward and keeping a straight face

so sometimes, he disfigures the bones without even knowing. 

no one gets too upset. after all, he took a sharpie 
to the edge of the Earth and made seven billion 
people fall in love at the same time. 

you should talk to him sometime. he never lies,

just tells jokes and they’re always the real-laugh kind.
he’s the reason noses were invented, cross my heart.