You have the strangest quirks. Your mind explores a million directions at once
Switching topics every few sentences. If I didn’t know you so well I wouldn’t be able to follow.
You eat horseradish straight Right out of the jar. I don’t understand how you manage it.
The time you made me try it, the acrid paste burned in the back of my throat
Like acid And I coughed And you poured me a glass of water.
You climb out of bed In the middle of the night,
Eyes shut tight, Mind wide open, Stumbling to the kitchen to make cereal.
I find it the next morning Right where you left it.
You don’t know how it got there.
You speed down the asphalt streets near my house Precariously balanced on an old, splintering skateboard.
I wince every time you take a hard turn Yelling that you should probably slow down Predicting the wipeout
Predicting the elbows and knees shredded on concrete But, fortunately, I am always wrong.
You pretend to misunderstand the term “organic” Because teasing me is your hobby
Because chemistry was your best subject in school Not biology, which was mine
“Aren’t all living things organic?” you ask When I make you stop at Whole Foods And the word is plastered everywhere
In swirling handwriting and block letters And I turn, overflowing basket cutting into the crook of my elbow
As I ignore the price tags And you smile And the dimples in your cheeks show
And every cell in my body