I lose my breath just
looking at you.
You are the secret garden
of my mind.
For the most part,
I am able to forget
the electric current between us
ever exists.
I try not to linger in the garden,
I can't get lost.
But you are so absolutely
angelic,
and I can never say it.
I sneak glances
at your firm hands
and the veins on your biceps.
I drink in your tall figure,
and I am shocked
having to stand en pointe
in order to look at you.
When you catch me staring
I have to look away.
I can't ever have you hear
the thoughts overflowing
from my eyes.
I hate when you say my name because
it is always
cautious and low
when all I want is you to
scream and whisper it
from dusk till dawn
in a hotel bed.
My resolve might as well be grainy sand crushed cruelly against my skin.
The wrath of society's judgment murders
my daydreams.
But it is effective.
And I hope she makes you happy.
(Selfishly, I hope you are cursed
with your heart aching for me
all your life.)
If I am to be damned,
it won't be alone.
Unfortunately, we were destined
to love each other,
but never to be
lovers.
