Before You Can Speak

With ease, he runs, breath puffing,

Lungs fighting, going nowhere in particular,

but it's somewhere. In that direction--

he points beyond the window with a fist

full of purpose and knuckles that have

sucker-punched life right in the stomach.

He walks onward, outward-- toward

the camouflage forest that burns

to tell the world it's alive.

“Pay attention!” it says.

He talks about poetry and his eyes

look like they could hold galaxies,

not in the way they shine, but in the way they speak.

So much to say and I'm afraid to read them.

He's the boy you want to keep up with,

chase around the corner of the block just to say

You won and watch the way his mouth moves

when he talks about a past love.

You wouldn't care if he caught you staring

but you wouldn't dare kiss him either.

He's not the kind of boy your lips want to touch,

so instead, you touch him with your heart.

You'll see him everywhere. He smiles

with warmth and all crooked teeth,

with the same eyes like stars and you

count the constellations on your fingers.

Then lose count and remember

you only have two hands. Two hands that try

to hold everything.

You are already carrying enough, so you

look at him and try not to fall in love.

Your heart hardly knows him, but

your mind has memorized all of his pieces.

The rain stops.

You are looking down the

Wet stretch of pavement,

Helpless and hopeless,

for he is already gone

Before you can say,

I love you.