"it's an old story, really:
there's a boy - you think you know
how the rest of this goes.
he has sea-storm eyes and
the bones under the skin of his wrist
are the most beautiful you've
ever seen.
you'd like to plant flowers at
the juncture of his neck
and shoulder and set
stars into every vertebrae of
his spine.
the story goes: your eyes meet,
your heart jumps, true love.
every second sinking
into the way your hand finds his.
disambiguation.
love rises, crests, plateaus.
a steady burning ache.
he denies it, the way
scared boys tend to.
finds excuses to be away
from the way you make
him feel.
love is not for everyone.
there's a certain kind of courage
in allowing yourself to fall.
(he's only ever known how to fly.)"
- Elisabeth Hewer
not edited
I thought this poem was perfect for him.