I can’t explain
the happy pain
nor the anxious joy
nor the sappy ploy
that brought me to talk to you again
nor the way I use pencil instead of pen and then
erase halfway so old thoughts remain
no, I can’t explain
no, I don’t want to
for I can’t undo
the way I feel for you
and even if I could describe
all these things inside
you wouldn’t understand
and if you did I’d feel less a man
and if I did you’d be less a fan
of my manic plans
which escape you and me
yes, we like to feel like cheap brandy
placed on dry throat or right on skin
slipping down sweetly, evaporating swiftly,
o-so-softly lifting us to that feeling of fleeting
