do other girls think about it too?
this isn’t a game,
or a coming-of-age,
i think i’m in love with you.
it’s all consuming, this dizzying head rush
i think about most girls
and that i haven’t explored this world,
i just want to know how it feels, to feel your touch.
soft lips, freckles, soft skin,
twirling your fingers through your hair,
you act like you don’t care
that other people think it’s a sin.
i fantasize about you all the time,
and does it make it less true
that i haven’t yet kissed you,
would that make it less of a crime?
but we have kissed
a performative dance,
the lights dimmed, the room swayed, and i took my chance.
“it didn’t count, you were joking, you were pissed”.
and so it went on for years
a party trick, or a self-deprecating joke.
i’ll keep it a secret, all mirrors and smoke.
my heart already hers.
but from 13 i knew,
it wasn’t a strong jaw or strong arms
that could keep my heart,
but a colour the warmest of blues.
Your smile is a work of art.
But not one that I could hang above my fireplace.
No, one of incomprehensible beauty
that I could only admire from a distance
in some hipster gallery in Soho
and only dream of owning.
Your eyes hold constellations in their sparkles.
Though not ones that I could easily pick out of any night sky.
No, yours are from a whole different galaxy,
awe-inspiring yet untouchable,
ones that only exist for the privileges of NASA’s finest telescopes.
Your body is an ocean.
One so deep and enchanting,
that the idea of swimming in you is overwhelming.
For now, I will just paddle my toes in your warm, clear blue shores,
and allow your gentle waves to wash over me in indelible silence.
Your lips tell soft stories,
weave words out of thin air.
But not any that I could write down, or dare to repeat.
For their beauty is ephemeral, evanescent
in their nature
and my amateur tongue could not do them justice.
all at once
magnificent and all-consuming.