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Poem 9: Obsession

 

Obsession


I love the way you talk and walk. I love the way you blink.

I love the way you threw that dish towel right into the sink.

I love the way you gesture and I love the way you nod.

I love the way you look past the fact that I am odd.

I love the way you see me and I love the way you look,

from how you hold a newspaper to how you hold a book.

I love the way you clear your throat, and how you shake my hand.

I love the way you deal with every situation in which you land.

I love the way you interact, and how you question everything.

I love how you are honest about how you cannot sing.

I love your overconfidence. You’re probably full of it

but I won’t grasp this totally until I’m in deep shit.

I love the way you know what to say in every eventuality.

I even find myself wishing I was your nationality.

I love the way you screw with me and make me want to visit.

Love is a drug, so it isn’t totally my fault, or is it?

I love your hair, your eyes, your skin, how perfect you seem to me.

I think of every conversation we had and jump up and down with glee.

I analyze every shred of proof you love me as I love you

and how you might just really care and not just want to screw.

I love your social skills, your talent at working a room

and how the spell you put me under shuts out any gloom

that comes over me when I’m more honest with myself.

I always in the end decide to put my common sense on the shelf.



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