I fell for you all late summer steam and dark humid rain,
electrically charged fingertips and cursive smiles.
I didn’t even open my eyes in the deep to
see and mourn what I had lost ...
The moment you balanced your feet next to mine on the curb and
bowed your head
to hear the absentminded showtune
on my breath like whiskey,
whispering to me in my tapered silence that you
wanted to hear me sing,
with earnest like opened peach halves so raw and sweet
that my voice obeyed
before I had the chance to decide ...
The breath you took when I whipped around
in my bus seat to offer you a pink polka-dotted grin,
and the delighted children we became in our anticipation,
all crossed stars and side glances savored like chocolate truffles
too thick and syrupy to devour whole ...
I fell for you all sweaty foreheads and damp pavement,
full palms and knotted stomachs –
I always knew that my concavity had a counterpart.
But then the ache in my lungs when,
with bellies full of Dippin Dots and funnelcake,
retinas imprinted with neon orange lights,
throats scratchy from belting and laughing,
your hand burning my thigh in the dark and
my head on your shoulder,
you rested your head
on mine
too,
hard and heavy,
straining my neck, and
girls are told that they will be
held and carried,
but love is not gilded or glittered,
not a pedestal or throne,
not a carnival or sweaty palms,
not plastic smiles or chocolate truffles,
not whiskey or shared melodies sung quietly in the rain.
I fell in love with you that night,
nothing but hard, heavy heads on bony, tired shoulders.