ODE TO MY OLD MAN

I love how your meaty hands swallows mine,

as mine grew older, yours grew more colder.

I love how your cologne drowns the stench of beer and wine,

“I’m gonna change,” you told her,

I love how you love to lie.

I can’t get enough of this choking hold, I

’m obsessed with making your eyes smile.

But in the end, I just cry.

“Don’t cry!” you scold.

Once again, I want to hold your hand-just for a little while;