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The Tomboy and the Boy
The girl’s clothes don’t fit.
She picks
shirts XL
that come to mid thigh,
wears little makeup
to my eye.
And though I’m not well studied
in expression,
to a simple mind,
something of her posture
reminds me of mine.
If it were presumptuous
or not,
I’d still say I
imagine her
for her kindness.
She reels me in stupid
to long look at her face and
dares me to risk a glance
behind.
I might be such a swine.
I feel like
her softness peeking at me
from under those bangs
that defend her secret like
everything else about her
is waiting
like so many are waiting.
Perhaps though,
the time will never be right
to let my heartbeat’s little subterfuge
remain alive.
The way the girl walks—
feminine temperament so quiet,
her life’s curves and hers unknown
will continue for her in confidence
like ever before.
But am I blameless
for punishing myself to wonder
what more?
© GriffPoetry
She picks
shirts XL
that come to mid thigh,
wears little makeup
to my eye.
And though I’m not well studied
in expression,
to a simple mind,
something of her posture
reminds me of mine.
If it were presumptuous
or not,
I’d still say I
imagine her
for her kindness.
She reels me in stupid
to long look at her face and
dares me to risk a glance
behind.
I might be such a swine.
I feel like
her softness peeking at me
from under those bangs
that defend her secret like
everything else about her
is waiting
like so many are waiting.
Perhaps though,
the time will never be right
to let my heartbeat’s little subterfuge
remain alive.
The way the girl walks—
feminine temperament so quiet,
her life’s curves and hers unknown
will continue for her in confidence
like ever before.
But am I blameless
for punishing myself to wonder
what more?
© GriffPoetry
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