I used to think that we were meant to be
You and I
And that's the way all good poems start
as we lay under the stars, bright and black
And trod through dewy grass, green
The cicadas chirped our praise
And the lake rippled our names
Together
It felt real then
real real,
Tell your mom kind of
Christmas together kind of
Share my secrets kind of
Marry you kind of
love
But I’ve been wrong before
And I’ll be wrong again
And that’s the way all good poems end