Anna Dove Poet Villanelle

Valentine's Villanelle

He spoke,
He spoke in ways I’d never heard before,
Bashfulness clustered around “ma’am” and “sir.”
I thought I knew a lot about him, till he taught me more,
Which was great, at first–Spanish class had become a bore–
his Bosnian sweetness an enticing lure–
he spoke in ways I’d never heard before.
Soon every night I would find him at the door of my mind,
I’d pull him in, mind rushing, face blushing,
as he spoke in ways I’d never heard before.
With his hair, with his smile, but, above all, speech,                                                                                       I didn’t think that I’d let him go out the door again
because thoughts of him would never be a bore, 
I thought I knew a lot about him, till he taught me more,
I could never hear his voice enough,                                                                                                           till new words bore down hard—”visiting,” “girlfriend,” a nameless “her.”
He spoke in ways I’d never heard before.
I thought I knew a lot about him, till he taught me more.

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