He is afraid I’ll write a poem about him being late
but also thinks I should
As if planting red flags in little piles of sadness
is an endeavor worthy of my words
As if I don’t already have stacks
of poems on sads long past
And can I please just have this one moment
to enjoy
and let myself be amused
by the fleetings feels of puppy love
and the fact that people are catching me
smiling
for no other reason than him on my mind
Let’s not waste ink
There will always be time for laments later
