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.