then watching the 2021 NBA Draft.
making chocolate chip cookies,
and then transcribing my shitty poetry.
hurt shoulder and hibiscus tea,
Lauren is crying into her soup.
if I were ten years younger,
I'd fall madly in love with her.
texting poems back and forth,
I'd eat her tears and swallow her fears.
she has an idea of my broken heart,
but she has no clue who it belongs to.
neither do I on an excited Friday night.
just two commas shy of sentence,
and the music is loud and the tv is loud,
I don't want to be a backwards man.
time only goes forward and that is why
I leave these notebooks under windshield wipers.
midnights come and go, and I hope
she calls after work at the sushi place.
I wouldn't mind moving on with her,
something excited to dispute.
maybe I would have good news
to tell my sister in Denver.