It’s not your taste for cheap beer
or the fact that your couch smells like boys.
It’s not the way your little cat gets stoned by accident
or that at your same party last summer
someone barfed on my new green shoes.
It’s not because I know that this time
there will be no piñata because right now
you’re really into being an adult.
I’m the drying grass in the hottest summer yet
& you’re the sprinkler that only works on the weekends.
I’m the kid with the broken telescope,
just a little dot on this planet,
& you’re that big beautiful moon.
I can only look at you from here.