teacher wants me

to memorize the slurs

and ties of latin or

some other overachiever's

language

but i seem to only remember

the words that slip off his tongue

and the soft curves of his loose

curls, his gingerbread eyes.

he speaks to me, prying

open my ribs to touch my soft

heart like applesauce, a rose

left out in the sunshine.

i promised i didn't miss

that beautiful painting

of our creamsicle bodies

intertwined but i also

promised i was a good liar.

i remember what you said to me.

it was afternoon. the skies were milky

and the clouds frothed over and

my fingertips iced as i stretched you a smile.

(i'm scared)