If you were my boyfriend

I'd want to hold your hand,

But not the way you'd think.

Id just want the tips to touch

JUST THE TIPS

Our finger tips

To touch for a split MILLISECOND

and then release.

Dragging off into complete comfort

Youd think id mean our arms

But i mean our own gravity

Wrapped around us telling us of why we feel this way.

Id never want to

HOLD YOU SO TIGHT

JUST RIGHT

NEVER LETTING YOU GO

I already have my own nightmare from that...

But that's another poem.

The one thing I can't let go

Is our memoirs of us that glows

As the start of when this gag fest started

It was in art class

We were oil painting

And though we never glanced at each other,

I felt so pleased to be the seat you sat next to

I'd sit back and relax and watch you paint

Watch your brush strokes dance and wish

That was us

You complimented me and I called you cute

AND SHOOT

YOU DID OUT OF YOUR SEAT

and wrapped your arms around me.

I don't know if it was the oil paints

Or the butterflies in me

But I felt a type of buzz that still hits

Whenever our eyes meet.

You see i'm more of an abstractionist

And you're an impressionist

But let's get together and make something

That looks like the Chicago lights at night

Unsure blurs that sets the tone

Of peace.

Lets

Make

Art.

Mark me as you will but i'm sorry

Just like oil paints over time

You're going to be a cancer of mine.

If I was your girlfriend

I wouldn't be

I already know where things would be

And that's okay

There's a comfort in knowing where things will be.