On the night I laid close to you in the dark,
I was too tense, too loud, and too scared.
There were cars and grass and pecan-shells--
And the night wasn't beautiful,
It wasn't star-speckled and quiet.
It was cloud-cast, too loud, and you were scared.
On the night I felt your ribs press against mine,
You were too friendly, too absent, and too hidden.
There were bats and pasta and dried leaves--
And the moon wasn't full,
It wasn't large and looming.
It was sickly-sallow, too absent, and we were hiding.
On the night I felt those words stick in my throat,
I was too clumsy, too crowded, and too antsy.
There were aliens and spiders and sweat--
And it wasn't just us,
It wasn't perfect and private.
It was highway-heated, too crowded, and there were ants.
On the night I tried to hold you in the dark,
You were too cold, too vast, and too distant.
There were cicadas and clouds and thunder--
And the night wasn't ours,
It wasn't easy and endless.
It was teeter-tilting, too vast, and you kept your distance.
On the night I felt your breath become my breath,
You were too tall, too eager, and too oblivious.
There were flashlights and embers and sweatshirts--
And it wasn't skin touching,
It wasn't soft and shy,
It was chapped-chaste, too eager, and I was sweating.
On the night I felt your hands slip from mine,
We were too young, too broken, and too sad.
There was laughter and chocolate and dancing--
And all that wasn't ours,
It wasn't your body against mine,
It was hollow-heartache, too broken, and I was crying.