A Wish Your Heart Makes

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his dirty white tee
and tattered blue jeans
make my heart melt
into a puddle over my abdominal cavity
and the melody drifting from
the junction between aged, rusty strings
and his calloused fingertips
is born from the same tenderness
as when he brushes my tears away
and softly presses his lips to mine
and when our eyes meet,
even if only to quickly look away,
I thank the god that I don’t believe in
for putting this beautiful boy
in my room,
guitar in hand
and for making him mine.





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