the morning bird

tell me what speaks louder?
is it four kisses down the left
of my back in that hotel room?
is you speaking of family as a time
excuse even though — and i’m trying,
i’m trying to let the doubts go —
i believe you to be a better man?
are you that man from the first
time you touched me, to the one who
called me beautiful, to the one today
who i can’t fucking tell is lying or not?
are you the one still hiding somehow,
and practicing actual respect but
remaining withdrawn for reasons i don’t
think i could ever really know?
the way you don’t know mine, they scream,
the emotions push and pull like the tide
and i’ve heard many sirens before but
nothing like your voice, your skin, and god,
your eyes when they’re with mine, even
your taste, the fucking cologne, the
touches, what more do i need to say
for you to know i’m already addicted?
but i want to switch it back to you,
so tell me how you speak louder?
is it your evasion of detail or are
you even quieter than i am, baby?
is it you pointing out the rosy future
and never moving to walk there?
come on, i thought you were the one
for adventure, is it more than
just fucking under a bridge by the river?
is it trusting me to give you
some other kind of spontaneity?
is it more than just late night
inconvenience to you, i say too much,
but you always are the first thing
i think about in the morning, i hear it
from you too every day, isn’t it habitual?
is it me only wanting you when it’s life
that makes things inconvenient?
tell me what speaks louder?
i try so hard to trust
the touches and not all of the words,
maybe because i’m a fool, or because
i thought “oh fuck” the moment
i first saw you, in the best way
possible, then it’s as if i saw you
as the best way to go possible,
like there was no other fucking
choice or direction, i’ve been looking
all over for something to feel like this.
even when it hurts, it hurts good,
like lightning and elation and misery
wrapped up in your warm arms,
and i mean my heart, the journey,
the bullshit and the people left to handle.
or is it those four kisses down
the left side of my back, under the
moon tattoo, over the talking and the
stories you told me about your life,
the ink on your skin, is it the way i look
at you or the way you look at me?
and i still don’t know which speaks
louder, but i’m not going anywhere
until i’ve found something, cause i’m
so sure i’ve already found the right road,
something calling me, something worth it,
right now i just wanna drive sitting beside you,
someday, please, tell me if you ever figure it out.

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