for anything to do with
your heart, your mind, your soul.
You were cute,
that was all that I wanted to think.
You were handsome,
that was all that I wanted
running through my mind
when I blushed as you walked by.
I wanted a lobotomy,
a heart transplant,
and a computer with a sex drive for a soul.
And you stood up
with a binder full of poetry
and read.
There is magic
in the universe,
particles smaller that electrons,
dimensions I can’t see,
physics I can’t understand.
There is music in the cosmos,
vibrations of heart strings,
sighs at frequencies yet unimagined.
You read poetry
and I heard the space’s symphony.
You spoke art
and I saw sound,
colors replacing noise,
filling the room with swirls
of painted vapor.
So pardon me
if I flirt,
despite knowing your heart
belongs to another girl,
because I saw pixie dust descend
over a classroom
and I felt light enough to fly,
because I tasted music and poetry
and would have swallowed it whole,
given anything more than the aroma,
because it doesn’t matter
what comes of longing and looking,
only that I can enjoy the view,
because life is too long,
love is boring,
and although I cannot
control feeling good,
I can try my hardest not to care.
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