O love that will not let me go I thought my body was broken I thought I'd have to be content with wanting to believe I feel like I've seen a ghost A Woody Allen kind of ghost who makes conversation And makes me tearful and smiley God. He's so beautiful. It was so beautiful. It was dirty and transcendental and mournful and hopeful like our taste in music He makes my monsters quiet And he laughs at himself He did that when we met He laughs at awkwardness and I revel in cheese And maybe that helps us love the inadequacy and sentimentality in ourselves I want to see stars and deep velvet and whoosh and burn again I feel like all the little impossibly loving things he does and is just broke me In the most satisfying crumbly way |