to the way your clothes smell after a full day:
sweat, almond-scented body wash, detergent—
to the way you cannot sleep without twitching—
to the pale white scar on your left eyebrow from
falling out of bed as a hyperactive three-year-old—
to your middle-child mind—
to the way you sing in falsetto to make me laugh
and the worst part is, it’s not even half bad!—
to the yellow bridges that populate the skyline
of the city where you grew up—
to the God you believe in—
to your annoying tendency to listen selectively—
to the way you can’t dance
and yet choose to dance with me anyway—
to all of the ways
you are—