Star Clipper Saturdays
I think in curls that bounce in the near-Spring sunlight
and brown eyes that burn with a wisdom expanding years unknown to me.
Shrug it off.
This flush of red sells me out
When lips meet flesh and soft words meet eardrums.
My knees no longer exist.
My mind no longer exists.
I'll hold on to this obsession til the sun rises
(or until he speaks my name again).
My logic has failed me once more,
and my heart remains the victor.