I don’t remember anything specific about the (actual) first time I saw you except for the swirling intoxication due to a 40 oz. But I do remember the sun the day I decided that I needed to know your name. And I ran to the park to write it all down. And I wandered to your house with you. And I wanted to sneak out as you slept and bruises bloomed on my chest in the morning. I make you wait for hours. days. now. never. The air hangs heavy in your empty house. And on your roof the 2 AM moon is hidden behind haze. My words. Our thoughts. your frustration. my confusion. feelings. tension. It dangles above us like a pendant on a chain. Now we lay on different patches of grass. Tangled limbs as the trees listen to us talk. Your face is so close to mine that my vision doubles and there are two of you. Two mouths and four eyes that I don’t have trouble looking into; because for whatever reason, looking people in the eyes is like staring at the sun.