Dec 8, 2009

Just these little crushes

In the month of may, when the sun carves through your skin,
Do you skip to the country fair just a little bit far?
The mayflowers peeking from the rocks you see from your moving car,
Do you wish you could be there to avoid all the din?

I went this summer with this sweet little boy,
He looked, I blushed, we played this game.
I felt like the beautiful, aristrocratic dame,
When he held my hand and gave a whoop of joy.

Childish. Sappy now. I wrinkled my nose at the patterns.
Blushing? I chided myself. Do you not know better?
Until I found in my bag, a crumpled, old fashioned letter.
This is definitely more than what you deserve to earn.
Skipping several beats, I read.

"Thanks, I like you."

Just when I thought I ended the pattern,
It weaved one of its own.

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