He tells you
He isn’t a poet
or rather, He answers with it when you tell Him you are one
you laugh, and it’s so easy to smile for Him
you’ll write enough poetry for the both of you

He tells you
that He feels lost
you never learnt to read a map but you know that you could find Him
you should find Him
in your dreams your lips find His, your hands holding His face like a precious stone
but He’s oh so much more than stone
flesh and
blood and
boundless humanity
and when you open your eyes, it’s not Him whose lips you’ve found

you tell Him
all the things you really shouldn’t
it almost doesn’t count
late night text messages with so much still unsaid
come on now, little ghost girl
didn’t you learn this lesson already?

He told you
He wasn’t a poet
but you’re not sure how true that is, anymore
everything He does feels like poetry
every word could be a song—
or maybe that’s just His voice, and the melody is all in your head
you find it in the way He looks at you, in the way He looks away
you’re finding a lot of things, these days
maybe you should have taken that map

He tells you
the truth
His version of it, at least
you don’t tell Him yours