this is an old and not good poem I found in one of my notebooks.

the wrong guy.

you remind me of a guy I used to know,

sleep-tugged

brown eyes

and second-day stoned.

You go down easy,

like iced tea laced

with honey.

You wear your confidence

like a threadbare sweater

(and I would like to put you on.)

Sometimes I see you,

brown hair fringing your eyes

(and I wish your eyes could see me)

but you only see whatís right in front of you

(and I am ten paces behind.)