good love.

I like good love.

It has you waking up an hour before your alarm,

failing English and acing science,

because you forget how to speak 

when the chemistry starts to control you.

Good love is made of sweaty palms.

and Check Yes or No boxes on "Do you like me?" notes.

It makes you hate the hour on the clock

for never being soon enough,

and never being long enough.

Good love sprung from Bad Love,

where people pocketed expiration dates

and turned a blind eye to the boy with rolled jeans and ambitions on his hands.

When no one stopped to ask your favorite flavor,

or why you listened

or why you loved that.

Good love tastes like honey

and sounds like Rainy Day mixed tapes that followed you into the car.

It feels like hands and red leaves,

exchanged for each other,

and looks like all the pages you dedicated to people 

in your favorite notebooks.

This is for you,

the pleased you,

the always-loved you.

I love you with a good love

 that sprung from country lyrics,

when you stopped wearing glasses to cover your ambitions;

You have always admired the poetry on the page,

and I have always admired you.