My Bad Idea Feels Like Home

Got the moon on my TV. Blue light on your knees on the carpet.

Half-drunk tea on the nightstand. You're tracing circles on my arm. You don't talk

yet. You say you're scared of the quiet. But you keep

turning every light off slowly. Your cheek in the crook of my shoulder.

Breathing out secrets like you almost told me. You're my bad idea,

favorite habit. Say you're leaving then you're back here at it. In my old

shirt, barefoot, half-laughed apology. I don't ever learn.

I just let you have it. Every line you blur, I just lean