A letter to a boy

This is a letter to a boy who walks
head and shoulders above the rest -
always seeming like he's seeking
greener pastures, or looking for me.

This is a letter to a boy who catches up
when I let him, never knowing it's not just luck
that draws me out of the crowd I become,
because desperation is only fun for so long
when he says, "Come here, kitten,"
commanding voice, unflinching eyes - I'm smitten
and curiosity killed the . . . urge to wander away again
so now I'm done with pretending.

This is a letter to a boy who moves
like the weight of thoughts and ideas
future, present, past
could never hold him back from
me, a body he's grown to own
dragged from every syllable scratched
into this patchwork quilt of injuries, we make
together, one square at a time,
leaving bruises, drawing blood
as we ease towards what could
be the newest caution line, unrecognized
until cauterized with screams
fate plays cruel jokes with handcuffs and emotion
building devotion
and commitment to not trying to run away
from this moment in time when he first said
"You hurt me" and I was anguished that he meant it.

This is a letter to a boy who isn't all real
because we still both live partly in another century
and while he means what he says is still ambiguous
about if he means "us"
as in two people, or together.
In the wandering meantime wondering if we've played at house
long enough to pretend this could be reality.

This is a letter to a boy who once said
nothing in the silence
because the slowing breath of sleep
had stolen in to ration already-precious time
when he didn't realize Sleeping Beauty
was only partly enchanted and could still hear him.
So he slipped out of bed to pen her a poem
goodbye.