it’s winter and it’s raining
two things that shouldn’t belong together
(you’ve argued that we shouldn’t belong together)
i was with you when your dad put a
fist through the drywall
and we stayed in a hotel and
i was with you on new year’s eve
in our own hotel room
and i was with you the first time you
started hearing me when i wasn’t there
and i was with you the first day and the last
and every day after because
even when i’m not with you i’m
tattooed on you forever
you even touched it up
when we hadn’t spoken in a year
you are my roadmap you are the gps
telling at me to take a left here
and i won’t and you get flustered and say,
you never take a left
and then it’s an argument on why right and i don’t belong
together but it’s also raining? in the middle of
winter? in new york?
if it’s you i will and won’t be surprised
all signs point to won’t
you love me like an old vinyl that
won’t stop skipping over the worst parts
but you keep playing it anyways
