Am I so silly
For sprouting possibilities of us
with my hand in enveloped in yours
If I haven’t gotten myself together to talk to you yet?
In my mind you’re as sweet at flan, or condensed milk on bread.
You could be a ****.
You could talk back to your mother,
Or worse, litter.
I wouldn’t know
Because I haven’t gotten myself to talk to you yet.
I observe your outfits. Some could say I borderline stalk you.
In a way that makes me cute because I’m so curious, but if our roles were reversed you’d definitely be called a creep.
I just want to observe you without getting too close.
The anticipation of rejection still worries me.

I told my mother about you, so don’t disappoint me.
Then again, how could you? Especially if I haven’t gotten myself to talk to you yet.
I blush when I think of your colored eyes, curly hair, or black Sketchers.
And you’re so tall
I wonder how much it’ll hurt to bend down when you kiss me.
I wouldn’t know what that feels like (yet), because I haven’t gotten the courage to talk to you.

I can’t help but wonder
If God is shaking His head because I’m slowly swirling into delusion.
Or if he’s cheering me on because His work with us is almost done.
It’d only make sense that we meet in His house.
Could we lock eyes as you move the basket down my pew?
And do you admire me from afar too?