Yes is the most beautiful word in the english language.
Also your name.
Even though you share it with so many other men.
When I type it into my phone, a whole list comes up,
I’m not kidding.
(Four others? Five others?)
I’m like a child attaching a new meaning to an old word.
All the sudden it doesn’t mean what it did.
It’s as if an apple isn’t called an apple anymore.
It’s like the sky is actually the color green,
Or the sun is actually named moon.
You still make me nervous.
Like maybe you’ll just disappear in front of me.
Become another name in my list of names.
Just someone I have the contact info for,
who I never call.
Who never calls me.
Who never touches me.
After you leave,
the sky will still be green.
The moon will rise every morning and set every night.
Apples will never be red again
and the sweet taste of the fruit has vanished completely from my mind.
I remember biting into one, a Lady Alice,
if I try hard enough I can convince myself it tasted good.
I can think, apples are good.
But the particular flavor is gone forever.
You’re the only thing I taste anymore.