i am jigsaw outlines & stained glass windowpane frames- all that black solder

a paint-by-numbers, but without the numbers and

you're the only one with the right colors and brushes

the only one that can fill in the curves and shapes.

you are the smile in my pocket and

i am the worn out candle wax excuses:

i'm dripping and burning.

you are like the heart I trace with paper fingertips

on my denim knees, telephone poles, & park benches

(would it be all right if i wrote your name next to mine?)

we

are like our scuffed up sneakers, my grape soda Fender, your passion

for anything that is just out of reach