You met him in the loud darkness
of early August, a summer so heavy,
so humid, and yet even then
you knew. You knew his laughter
would be the reason for the most
beautiful demise of you.
His arms, ones you’d think hold
up the sky, encircle your waist
as he makes you miss
another shot at the pool table.
But you knew you could never
win when you’re this intoxicated.
You can’t tell though, whether
it was him or the alcohol.
And when he spins you round
with tequila dancing in both your veins,
you wonder if this is
your version of a fairytale.
His star-spangled pride was
everything you never thought
you could possibly have been
pulled into by. But his grey eyes,
which he insists are hazel,
tell you a story of a boy
willing to hold you
till the earth spins off its axis.