we are paran maum!

Somewhere in Georgia, a girl wears her tender like a bear trap. She calls love a four-letter word— the way it tears and eats, but she dips her fingers in it, anyway: just waiting for all that soft to break her neck.   A thousand miles away from her, I am melting my heart into gold, so that it will be worth something when I give it to her. I pick out every flinch and fear that kept me from doing this sooner. I am ready for her. I am ready.   Come August, that girl will be in Texas: in my city, in my apartment, in my bed, (in my arms). But August feels like a lifetime from here— all that summer sprawled out between us instead of highways.   Every night, I tally up all the times a day I wanted to kiss that mouth (that mouth, that mouth), and I make a promise that, in two months, I will.