Be My Lobster

I can't wrap my mind around where you find time to screen-print valentines between five classes, but I've kept mine tucked underneath pamphlets about loneliness and suicide prevention by my bedside.

I've been willing comets to collide with southern Florida for the past few nights, where you'll return to in due time, the sun-kissed coast you left behind when you traveled north to find your place in my native state.

And even though I don't know a lick of Spanish I know that passing by your lips, it's never sounded so bueno.

I think there's something to be said about a language I don't speak being stuck inside my head. I'd like to think it means a lot when I can't understand a word you say but still love to hear you talk.

When it snows here I'll think of you where it never really grows that cold.