I wasn't born a poet.
The world made me one.

When he looks you in the eye,
You see nothing but mischief.
A devious smirk plays across his lips
As he opens his mouth to flirt
In the only way he knows how.
He throws out a taunt with a small chuckle
And a glint in his gaze.
You smile and shake your head,
For this is the game you two play,
And although you hate to love it
You take a moment
To formulate your cunning response.
It must be playful, and not too hurtful.
After all,
You know how you both struggle
at determining just when
Too far is too far.

After a few rounds
His last jab strikes a nerve.
Your smile dissipates
And his miscalculation is made evident.
You turn away,
just like that the game is over for the day.
He regrets it, that much is clear,
But when it comes to games
Sometimes you win, and
Sometimes you lose.

As you stand to leave
He leans in close, so close his cologne
tickles your nose
“I’ll still see you tonight, yes?”
The words roll off his tongue like honey,
Leaving a sticky sweet taste in your mouth.
Your heart bounds,
And you’re fighting back a grin
As you nod and push past him.
You take a deep breath,
and exhale the butterflies
that seem to always reside
when he is near.