I bet you would hate to find out
how many poems I have written about you.
You never liked anyone looking too closely,
lingering too long.
They might notice
how you never stand in the middle of the room
or talk about yourself
but instead you toss one-liners like rocks into a pond
and lean against the wall
craft beer in your (left) hand
while you watch the ripple spread
how you never play a sad song through
how your folded pocket knife spins
between your fingers like a fidget toy
how you run your hand over your hair when you’re embarrassed
(hair that you cut short
because you think your curls are boyish)
how you’re embarrassed
because I was looking long enough
to catch you looking at me.