When will you realize
that it is not your body,
nor your smile,
nor the implacable sweetness
to which I am drawn?
It is you, in all.
I run and avoid you,
the thought resurfaces
and brings me bitter joy,
like an insoluble grease.
If I found you alone,
what would I ever say?
"I love you"?
You already know this,
but I will make sure.
Pleasantries melt away
until we're left with
misunderstood silence
dragging aversion
tense hyperbole
of "worst, darkest, least."
Yet if you came to me
and listened to my verses
and knew what I saw,
perhaps you would leap
and take hold
like I do, always.
