I don't love you.
Not with butterflies or jitters
or dreams or any of that shit.
I barely know you. Besides,
love is not an assault on the body.
My knees get strong when we talk,
when I say I can't do this for four years
and you just smile and say Three.
I love you because we stayed up so late I forgot I was homesick.
I don't want your body.
I want you to pat my head when I freak out.