7.

Pretty girl with dreads walks by.
Peeks around a bookshelf.
The hem of her skirt makes my fingers itch like typewriter keys make me want them, except her dress was plaid and cotton and she looked right past me. Green-shirted me.
We could have picnics in that dress,
Both wear it sometimes,
My moccasins don’t match it but you could teach me how to walk like you and wear those glasses if you saw me in the right lighting.
My green shirt looks pretty good too.
But I bet she’s straight like every other girl I meet, and then my friends call me a vulture for asking that freshman if she was gay Saturday night.
I want more boots & I want people to call me a dyke, does that answer your question?
We are black letters punched onto paper, you&I
We are supposed to sit close and create things like words
We are knitted like knobbly white thread woven into a sweater that I wear for comfort.
I want to break your heart.
I want to make you shake.