3.1
May 1, 2016

When I See You.

Blake Richard Verdoorn/Unsplash

*Warning: Many F-bombs Ahead!*

~

When I see you,
I’m reminded of a damn good cup of coffee on a cold morning—
and how delicious and exciting that cup can be.
Shit. It’s so fucking good to be. Awake.
—and how good a cold beer can taste.

When I see you,
I want to dance in snake shoes (or not)
And coach a soccer team, make some kale soup, shake some shit up, eat some goat balls
and say hit that instead of grace,
Like it’s my religion.
But who needs religion when you’ve got. This.

I think of hurricanes. And running in shoes that don’t fit.
And listening to you sing. Reading your emails again and again.
Just. To. Laugh.

I think of bikes—
And your shorts (perfect short shorts for 20 miles…huh?)
Hit. That.

Fuck, at the end of the bike ride, lord knows there will be a good swiss chard salad from a food truck.
And a good bike ride always ends with a night cap—and probably the A-Train home.
With deli sandwiches in hand.
And even shit in the train won’t smell too bad. Cause the company is that. Good.

Let me be clear, I don’t want to Thomas Crown Affair this—
I want to “Notebook” this ending (so I should probably stop talking about shit in this goddamn train)
Put me in a boat with you and a towel (cause that’s all you need, right?)
and we might get covered in grease.

but there is always grape seed oil and a razor
on the other. side.
I think of winter hats and you reading Nietzsche.
Fuck, you could read. anything.
I would listen.

When I see you,
I think of cream in oats topped with cranberries
And how good that moose sweater would feel when the weather starts getting cold.
I’d curl up. and listen.
Especially if you pick the playlist.
Lay. It. Down.

When I see you,
I want you on the couch.
And I know you know what that means
’cause you wrote it.

I want to laugh at how much I love how you do it—sardines, yams, saltines, games, “programs.”
And you do it. So. well.
Flawless.
Bow down bitches.

I’m reminded of a damn good cup of coffee.
and how good a cold beer can taste.
I want to dance in snake shoes (or not) and
say hit that instead of grace.
Like it’s my religion.
But who needs religion when you’ve got. This.
I think of that song you put on. In the mornings. That one that makes the pain of last night’s bottle-pass, well, less. treacherous.
You are the Michael Jordan of this jam. From the couch I’m on.
Flawless.

Bow down bitches.
And I want to whip my hair back and forth. If you remind me.

Now, it’s my turn to be relentless.
I might ask you to explain to me that a zebra without a name is just a striped horse.
But this striped horse—
It’s just. Love.
The kind that makes that coffee want to linger and that cold beer never taste
so good
and these slippers just became my snake shoes. For the night.

When I see you,
You make me want to write. And dream.
Now it’s my time to be relentless.
I want you to talk to me.
Read with me.
Cry on the subway with me when this shit breaks our hearts. In the best. way.

I can’t tell you what the hell the water is,
But man, I wish you were in it. with me.
~

Author: Sarah Fishstrom

Editor: Toby Israel

Image: Blake Richard Verdoorn/Unsplash // Alexandru Zdrobău/Unsplash

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