Infatuation is a delicate dish. [poem]
Your name is honey-sweet
dripping from my tongue in dulcet tones
sweetening the page I have scrawled
again and again
with the loopty-loops of your name.
(And here’s a secret:
I write my name with your last name,
just to imagine a future as mrs. to your mr.
just to feel what it would be like to inhabit such sweetness.)
Your name is honey-thick
clouding my mouth when I’m stuck for words
obstructing my way when I want
to get across to you
all these thoughts inside my head.
Infatuation is a delicate dish.
It must be prepared with a light hand
throw in a dash of hope and mix in some bravery
for good measure.
You’ll know when it’s ready.