Satisfied

He told me to meet him at the Atlantic,

so I drove six hours but I went more south,

and I think he meant north.

I don’t own a compass but I bet, 

we're still looking at the same stars.

And I know his voice in the waves,

crashing in the dark.

I know his smile like the sand I'm laying on.

I don’t like love poems,

that end sappy and romantic,

but if it ends,

in a confused heartbreak,

I might be satisfied.

He told me that he loved me,

but he didn't know if it'd work,

because he thinks I fall in love too easily,

and he didn't want two hearts broke.

But I know the freckles on his back,

like I know the constellations.

And I know the whispers of his heart,

because my own heart is echoing them.

Satisfaction is nothing to dwell on,

but it happens when you least expect it.

And while I'll never be happy with any ending we have,

I pray it brings me satisfaction of the love I gave you.