How delicious—
the idea of being inconvenient.
Of being difficult.

Because I know
how to be easy.

I know how to be good.
All that continuous improvement—
agile development—
the endless how can I love you better?
nonsense.

I know how to leave dinner outside your lab.
Take the street side when your eyes flicker.
Tell you we're past embarrassment.
Sculpt your midnight dreams
into poetry. Into blueprints.
I know how to give you flowers.

But what I want
is to know
how to leave.

I want to be unusual every Tuesday—
mismatched socks, lopsided thoughts.
Ridiculous when the rain pours—
soaked through, silly,
savoring every teardrop.

I want to spend a season—reckless—
speaking in metaphors,
like that 4:03 a.m. text
sent between git commits:
you’ve unleashed something feral,
and now it’s bleeding everywhere—
and let those metaphors
bleed on into the next.

I haven’t stopped writing.

Oh, how I want to be—

salt in sugar,
absurdly annoying—
on purpose,
livid—and let it show,
giddy recounting Chipotle
catching fire.

A little wicked.

Actually—

a lot.