The new flame

I met a boy.
He is that
a boy.
He is smart and funny
he constantly smiles,
but he is not yet a man.

This is no criticism,
simply an observation
for I am no woman.
A young lady, young adult
but not a woman.

His eyes are what strike me.
Their colour
I have not seen on another.
The golden tone reminiscent of molten brass.
I find myself rude to ignore them
yet stuck
in a state of suspended distraction and absentmindedness when
caught in their gaze.

This regular occurrence of
stopped conversation.
and crimson is criminal
as with every sentence we pass,
my intrigue and comfort grow.

I want to answer every question,
disclose every detail,
break through wood and show him my sky.
But will he see the deep blue or the clouded black?
And what of his sky?
Has he suffered the same hail bombarded nights and
months of cloud that I have?

But in this moment,
this chilled silent sharing of air,
I know our minds are in line,
asking the same question of ourselves and each other.
We exchange words that are not our thoughts
We exchange looks that are.

But no.
Not this time…
The blanket but not the fire.
Yet,
the match is poised
the wood waiting
to be turned from set
to burning chaos.

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