stuckonyou
they told me i was going to be stuck
on a desert island
and all i could bring
was just one little thing.
now, i sat and i thought,
i tried my hardest to plot
the most clever “one thing”
i could possibly swing.
should i bring my mother? a notebook? some matches? a knife?
i swam around in my thoughts to try and arrive
at the one thing i’d absolutely need to survive...
but just like that island,
i kept getting stuck
on you.
i thought of the way you’d look there
innocently underneath the sun
your hands floating palm-down
as you waded waist-deep into the sparkling water
and how i would wish i had brought a camera
to photograph you smiling back at me.
we couldn’t last long, of course,
‘cause i didn’t bring a single match
and i didn’t bring a knife,
i didn’t even bring a notebook
so we could document our island life.
maybe i’d bury a portrait of you i'd scratch out
on a fallen, old palm leaf
and a hundred years from now
travelers who found it might be stuck
in disbelief
but we were here
and we were true
and we were free
and i had you
so when i was told that i’d be stranded,
and i’d be testing all my luck,
i know some logic was demanded,
but i kept getting stuck
on you.