My mind is a stuffed disease
through clouded eyes and

my face feels faint and shallow.
Quiet hands and drooling lids;
******
er.
Broken confidence
through months of solitude

hidden feelings that showed their presence 
between self doubt.

The way she smiles

or the way she looks at you
how every girl wants a boy to look at her.

I know she wants

me

to stretch hands;
titillating.
I swallow
nerves and puke.
Disgorged in my throat,

she sat.

Smiling up at me,

her face so hopeful,
her hands stretched 
like mine once stretched to him.

Away she walks beyond my mind
frisking her feet, 
nuzzled in.

I want to keep her.

Hold her against my chest
and live like primary school kids.

In single beds

with christian hands

looking for God
in paper notebooks.

That extended grip,
and I don’t know how to touch her