Sitting Beside Handsome

Poetry by | August 3, 2008

Sitting beside handsome
Is an intricate art:
A bouquet of anxiety
Grows on your skin
So abruptly,
Yet so daintily,
As if it has happened before.

A familiar feeling, yes,
Like opening your first gift from Santa
Or taking the first strides
Of your pre-school graduation march.

You check your hair,
The oil on your face,
And how your feet look
In those girly slippers.
All of these done
With extreme subtlety.

Your vocabulary shrinks to one-tenth, so,
You mutter words which
Do not sound like words,
So he wouldn’t get the impression
That you want
To talk to him so badly.

And it’s an emotional tug-of-war.
To talk or not to talk.

Surprisingly, his opinion matters now.
You realize this,
And your heart pounds on your chest,
Your mouth experiences drought,
Your pupils bloom.
But you like it. It’s a fair imitation
Of midday magic.

It was just an ordinary day,
Powdered with good luck,
Embroidered with bliss.

And he has no idea. No.

One thought on “Sitting Beside Handsome”

  1. Enjoyable piece. Reading this poem feels like walking in a garden, enjoying the scent of flowers, the sight of trees, the songs of birds–then you tripped. Nice punch line. No, that should be a punch word 🙂

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