the things i don’t know

i don’t know how to pick the right words
in poems. you tell me that i need words
that are quite a handful but also roll
easily off the tongue, so that you can 
remember at least, some of the things i’ve said. 

if i ever do figure it out, i’d more ornamentally 
explain how little and how much you mean to me. 

i don’t know how method works or what 
are the ways to write. but i do sometimes
think of lines while i drink tea and you, your
cold mango juice. i zone out while 
you smoke sometimes, just thinking  

how do i put it without you thinking
that i am/have quite fallen for you. 

i don’t know where to put line breaks,
you tell me they are of vital importance.
but my train of thought sometimes
refuses to stop and play along with
sensible pauses. the wheres along

with the whats and hows seem to be
questions that i will never answer but always

ask of you. because you know the right words, that 
which will be thought of and remembered. line breaks
that will give more structure than this 5-2-5-2-5-2 
pattern that will, i assume, answer no questions 
and will simply leave me and you more confused about
how much detached is attached and the effect to which 
you have affected me and what the right things are, that
are to be written and where the right things are to be said. 

(i don’t know much but i’ll still go ahead,
write you this poem because
itches to be scratched and pens to be put to papers
and saturday night was spent alone.)