my baby’s got an off color way about things

he don’t like people

or festivals or parades

or house parties or prisons for that matter

he’s got a look that’d turn you to stone if you let it

but if oceans were dark brown ‘stead of blue

they’d be his eyes

he’d swallow whiskey before water

but that mouth can form the sweetest words ever said

and I love him from the crust between his toes

to the top of his head

we’so tight

that I can tell when he changes his mind about his favorite color

or uses different soap

when he loses hope

if he’s broke without needin’ healing

if he’s hurt but wantin’ fixing

when he bleeds

what he dreams

but most importantly, if i’m what he needs

and if I should let him go

Shugar,

ain’t that love?