I want you in your unwashed jeans
Your bracelet from the second grade
I want you in between my arms
The haven in which I made
I imagine women like songs and such
Those pretty ones made for them
If that’s naïve, clearly produced
I require a dumb sort of lust
I like you with your greasy hair
Your feigned reluctance to take a smoke
I hit you like a drug and you write a song
Of words I think you’ve never spoke
I imagine men like cars and such
Those shiny ones for too much money
If love is juvenile, beneath my age
I’ll scrub and dread my ugly rust
But thoughts are just thoughts
Feelings subjective
Actions pass me by
I stay yours, the most attentive
The well of time runs dry
You stay mine, as I hope
All I do is pray
We stay together, while the sun sets
You leave on the new day