Dear Boy

Found this buried on my computer and thought I might as well post it.

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Yesterday you asked me what you meant to me
We were both drunk,
slinging back water cups.
I'm not sure what I mean to you
only that one word from me
would set us at odds or evens,
and I'm not sure which scares me more.
I couldn't tell you then and there,
I can't tell you when I'm sober.
My life didn't teach me to be honest with the people I love.

I know that your neck is a harmony that stands my hair on end.
I know that your smile smacks of five years of weed and booze,
late nights and early mornings.
I know that your hands are dry and your spine is crooked.
I know that you're skinnier on the inside and that part of me is scared
to see you that way.

I can't tell you what you mean to me,
because I can't find the girl inside me to ask her.
I can't tell you what I want from you, because I haven't yet learned
how to want something from someone else.
I can't tell you that I think I might be something for you,
I can't tell you that I need you to open my eyes
I can't tell you that I look at you with hungry hands.

These are my riddles,
and you are the sphinx who keeps posing the question.

There we were again,
and this is the yearly ask. What are we, or what could we be,
or what can I say to keep you from cracking me open.

I say you are one of my favorite people in the world,
you agree,
and here we are,
no closer and no farther than we were,
but maybe a little longer in tooth than we stood before,
maybe a little more frustrated,
maybe a little more placid,
maybe just settled enough to send you back home
to send me back to class
still wondering what would have happened
if just once
I had admitted to understanding your question
and answered outright.

Maybe next year.