you've got

it's dark outside, but it's darker inside.

i can see the inches i've grown pushing at the foot of the bed
and i can see the inches between who you are and who you were
in the bad habits you've picked up on the road to november.

there will come a time when you'll forget whose bones are buried in the backyard
and the cigarettes will pile up in the kitchen sink.

my mother's hands will wear the nursery rhymes thin
and the grass will fade to gray.
the world will be rewritten in black and white
and the pull of the moon will keep the men from their lovers.

but you've got forget-me-nots for eyes
and instead of lines in your palms,
you've got fortune cookies from chinese restaurants.
and you're proud of them.

you've got police tape wrapped around your smile
and a therapist wearing construction orange.
you say "maybe" instead of "yes,"
and "no" instead of "maybe,"
and your heart isn't as steady as it's cracked up to be.

you've got february eyes.
seeing eyes.
looking eyes.

and you wear these glasses to frame them,
but i know your lips have always had the camera's focus.

you always manage to bring sex into a conversation,
and you pull men to the water's edge like a siren
before you push them on their way home.

listen, you've got typewriter hands.
calibri font hands.
"watch me" hands.

you've got "give me" hands.
credit card hands.
atm hands.

you've got an ampersand kind of voice
and we're all waiting for what happens after the word "and"
but you've also got an ursula kind of voice,
when she steals ariel's boyfriend.

you've got a mean streak tucked beneath your blonde
and i've always wanted to be the thing that kills you,
but you pray to him more than i do
and his eyebrows lift as your lips move.

his eyebrows lift as your lips move.
my eyebrows will never lift as your lips move.

listen, you've got a lot of things,
but you'll never get me.