smoke signals

and it says,

find a home,
it curls around my shoulders
and it whispers in my ears.

my friends, that is love.
a spun sugar wheel of desire
that twists it's way into your eyes
so that when you look at the object
of your affection, they soften
without your consent

this is fluttering heartbeats, 
butterflies with trembling wing
whispering in your head, 
cute laugh, sweet smile, beautiful mind, 
and i do not know how i keep
these things caged

because i have always been the type
to fall in love so utterly deep,
to tip head-first
and never quite find my way out

my love is smoke signals, 
the way i look at you when you can't see me,
vague statements that mean i'm
dying to compliment you

yes, it is something insubstantial,
but it's there - the inner translation
as close to heartfelt that i'll ever get

the first time i saw you,
my breath froze in my lungs
and for once in my life,
i didn't have a chance to 
utilize my dry-as-a-desert sarcasm,
didn't have a chance to distance myself

because i know i'm not good enough for you.
but you are witty and pretty and wonderful - 
i don't usually fall for what someone wears on their skin. 
i fall for what simmers below the surface. 

a mind as complex as the shades of your dyed hair, 
i was captivated when i first met you
yeah, i know you have no interest in me
but when i stumble and stutter and don't reply,
it's not that i don't like you - 
frankly, the exact opposite. 

smoke signals float above my 
gay little heart,
twisting and turning

as though i'm trying to make you notice me
as my spun-sugar attraction breaks in two. 

The End

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