Baby, did your boyfriend wash his jeans last night? He went off-shore to see turtles and a constellation of sand melted on his back pocket. I took a mind-picture of him cruising the waves with an orange surfboard over at tangerine sunrise. His deep brown hair brushes against his shoulder like a tsunami of mud.
We collected seashells after the rain and separated the pink ones for you at home. We sipped two pints of stout at the trashiest pub near the back alley. Your boyfriend, with glimmers in his smiles, and dirt on his sleeves.
When you took a photo of him taking pictures of you under a golden umbrella, he was wearing my white shirt. The one I left at his bathroom window when I fixed his pipelines. Your photos hanging inside silver frames as we cleaned up – waiting for your return.
My blood on his front pocket and memories of our teenage rebellion stuck inside his zipper like sticky gum. And when he said goodbye last night, your name echoes all over the room. The most beautiful woman on earth in a white summer dress. Oh, how can I compare? My worn-out trousers have holes in their crotch and my shoes fell flat on your shadow.
Baby, please tell your boyfriend to wash his jeans tonight. Scrub it clean from sands and salty air. Turn over his back pocket to collect his childhood trauma. And before you learn that I was the one dragging him deep underwater, please whisper that I’ve always loved him.
(for g & k)
