To all the boys I
did not kiss—my heart trembles:
windblown pink roses.
Rush of cheeks carmine—
a wished for warmth or winter’s
sharp and bitter embrace?
Languid, grass-stained heat
of orange days—at sunset
our breath is closeness.
His shirt had lemons
against cerulean and
just one loosed button.
I cannot recall
now the color of his eyes.
I like to think green—
Even an above
ground pool is a refuge—soft
blue, chlorine, us two.
A Melancholy:
is nighttime more black or blue?
You: a blue without.
Cut lavender, so
sweet, reminds me of all the
boys I did not kiss.
