To Like a Boy
To like a boy, one must follow the following,
have a stomach to squeeze at the sight of him,
have a heart twist twice more than clinically appropriate
at the thought of him,
a little rock to pose in the middle of your larynx
if you get a chance to talk to him.
To like a boy, one must be ready to feel,
a disquieting jump of the stomach,
an hour nigh dawn
a stiff-neck forenoon,
a faux belief, unnecessary loud sighs.
To like a boy, one must know,
the latent truth that it may never really be,
what they want it to.
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