Notes

Dear «long, dark hair»,
I write cause I know you’ll forget
You could be sea-green in a waste basket tomorrow
No repulsions for
My premature indulgences
If you cant recall a word I said
Not like those cheek bones,
That crooked nose
No, those fellas stick around too long
Perpetuate in every pathetic word
That I askew into song
She was my trophy shelf of slip-ups
My untamed, hormonal, acne shit show
On late night rotation for months on end
A brick-boot swimming lesson
In the deep end of my adolescence
Scrawling notes on the backs of my hands
But I’ll start fresh with you
Extracting the rusted attachments
Keeping the die-hard nuts, bolts and screws
We’ll go from square one with the wit of an old pro
And you can fill in the gaps with whatever you know
My «long, dark hair»