My mouth dried out when you called
to tell me all about the dignity and longing
that you spilled into a stranger’s heart.
When you whisper to me, it is an ocean breeze.
I can feel the saltwater lapping at my ankles
still.
I wondered how many of my lines you
whispered to her as casually as the wind.

When your love finally breaks me down,
I will throw my head back, and I will laugh
like the child I really am,
tangling jump ropes on the sidewalk,
enjoying the breeze on an afternoon in May.
I used to think we were so different,
but we are the same.
We are both just kids playing double-dutch
with our heartstrings,
hoping we don’t end up in knots.
I used to think you were still pure
enough to have flowers growing up your veins,
but you have weeds like the rest of us.
We are sad children with decaying insides,
pouring our morals down strangers’ kitchen sinks.
We are the same.

I could try and blow the puffs of my dandelion heart
as far from here as I can.
But I’d much rather bloom with you.
I’ll even take the weeds.
I’ll never let the wind pick up these seeds.