YOU

It's frustrating and amazing and curious and stupid

but all I do is think about you.

In the car at the bars

through the streets with Walkman beats

all I do is think of you.

At noon and night and nine and all through November

I can't get you out of my head.

Too much, two hundred percent, to the twilight of time

I'm occupied with you

and your body

and your eyes poring through me

and your thoughts

and my hopes

that they linger on me

Like, through time, and space, and inconceivable dreams and irreconcilably incorrect memories, I think

of nothing

but you.