a tribute to kaybaby

i like you.

i like the way your hair is never quite one single color,
always moving in the sun like confused shimmering rainbows as a testament to your indecision.
i like the way your lip ring flashes past me all shinyshiny when you talk,
the flowing ribbon of your nervous giggles when you think you’ve said something stupid–
(nine times out of ten i’m thinking what you just said was absolute genius,
though that might be just because i think you’re bloody brilliant)
or maybe i don’t hear what you say at all sometimes
because your rack is so amazing i get distracted.

i’ll be honest. you know it too. (you know your rack is amazing, don’tcha?
look how you blush when i say it. you blush so sexylike, girl.)

i like you.
i like the way you sometimes get upset over things
that make no sense to anyone but us, how you write and write
and blanket paper journals and blogs with pixels and ink in layer upon hasty layer
till it’s a great quilt of feeling (and damn you gotta lotta that)

i like like how shaky i am around you,
how i can’t figure out whether to hold your hand or cop a feel
or fold my hands behind my back like a good boy.

you’re always somebody different and yet you never change.

i like you, girl.

i like how when we talk your words trip over themselves and sometimes
they fall flat on their faces and we laugh at them.
i like the way your hips swish just a little when you walk
and sometimes i think you do it on purpose, you know…
i think you like to make me wonder.

you know what i wonder.

i like you, girl; i like the way you weave your magic yarns in magic cloaks
around my magic shoulders, poetry and spastic moments blending
in the kind of music precious few can hear or understand. i think
we speak our own language, to be honest, and i’m not sure if we’re nuts
or just special (or both).

i like you, girl. i like you so much i wanna give you something.

i’d give you all the poetry your heart could sift through,
music to kiss your ears into submission, maybe a kiss or two
beneath the sweating heads of some screaming romeo band in a crowded venue on Saturday night;
sleepovers without the fear. laughter without the paranoia.

tears with no reason at all. a song in the twilight,
maybe a rose stuck haphazardly in your hair after a shower and a photo shoot–
a thank you note you can smell.

i’ll give you all of that if you smile for me one more time.

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