a boy who weaves copper coins between his fingers,
as if he's fiddling with the frayed edges of my threadbare heart.
a boy who decorates myrtle leaves with black ink,
as if he's doodling on the blank canvas of my skin.
a boy who smiles softly, laughs lightly, talks tenderly,
as if he's a vinyl player stuck on the lowest volume setting.
a boy who hides behind his dark sky of hair,
a shade of black that turns mahogany in the light.
i thought for a heartbeat,
that this might extend beyond shy smiles and stolen glances.
i wondered for a second,
if i might be able to catch a piece of his heart in my palms.
i warned myself not to get my hopes up,
but hope wasn't listening.
he slipped away behind my back.
he never seemed to say much, not even goodbye.
it turns out he was just another boy
to desire from afar.
and i'm left wondering
if anyone will ever desire me.
YOU ARE READING
Small Talk
Poetry❝ we're just fumbling through the grey, trying to find a heart that's not walking away. ❞ [ a collection of drabbles, musings and poetry: sometimes i like to pretend that i can write poetry when there's things i want to get off my chest ]
