I've come to the realization that I only miss you at night.
It's desperate and it's pathetic and it's a goddamn phenomenon
that I only care about the way you still remember
how to tilt my head like a compass pointing south,
how to touch my collarbones that dip like the Grand Canyon,
how to count my ribs like you would the Seven Wonders,
how to leave your mark like thin, red state lines on my back,
how to hold my hipbones. Steer them to you.
Drive recklessly, crash into me.
We're already a mess, a little broken glass won't make a difference.