Maybe you won’t

say you love me

in a way I’d believe,

besides, who’s counting the petals

she loves me,

she loves me not.

To the girl

who started following today

your love of water

is all together

something I could touch and feel.

The newness in words,

she struggles still

with the weight of the world

always expecting her

to meet certain life markers.

When will you..

or when are you going to…

It’s only when

those types of questions fade

she can comfortably live

in her well manicured skin.

This poem today

written on my phone

I’m trying to kill time, waiting.

I can’t stop thinking

how that pretty girl

fell in love

with the feel of water.

I wonder if,

it matters not,

the temperature between

feeling like she belongs

holding on to her familiar things

or does she embrace the unknown

taking pretty chances.

Can she stand the heat

as the water slowly turns

from a tepid look

to a blood cursing boil.

Love denied,

meant something was asked

and at this hour

as I sit here waiting

she’s all I can think about.