Something Wild In Small Desires
A poem, for the madness
I crave for the nerves
that burst in the palms of my hands
when my heart’s on fire.
There’s something wild in small desires
like hazel eyes under dim lights
or curly hair sitting just right.
Or the space between your hand and mine.
So I linger,
and linger,
and linger long enough until I feel silly.
So silly I wonder how to stop wondering.
I’m so distracted by the aching pull
to move just an inch closer,
I forget the fantasy in my head
is teasing the blood
beneath my obvious red face.
So I try to ignore it,
But the sun hits their eyes
And I’ve discovered my favorite colors exist only in the sky and
In the eyes of the people I’ve swooned over.
I can’t help but to look.
I’m addicted to
the rush, the nerves,
the madness of something so usual
feeling so wild.
My face becomes love-obsessed,
turning silence into
unstoppable smiles
and curious tones.
They pause to ask,
“What?”
Like they already know.
So I smile like I’m busted
for falling in love,
and say: “Nothing...”
While imagining heart stops and close calls.
Like two hands in the popcorn bowl.
