And it’s silly, I know,
but I loved you for that;
and for the fireflies in your voice
and the gremlin in your footsteps.

So what if we depend on circumstances?

Now I know, of course:
the light gleaming off your hair
isn’t from me.

And I cried a little, at first.

I don’t know how to look,
not any more than a generic marmalade mind
would allow for.

But still;
When the corners of your mouth turn up a bit
it’s reassuring.

I look at you,
my lips burning with sentiment,
and tell myself that your smile
is more than concentrated orange juice from the can.

But I read too much into this.
Anyway,