Convex raindrops mirror your eyes

and I sing and I slide and I sigh.

The vivid noise surrounding you head

like a halo

tangible and golden,

is causing me

to cry out loud;

is generating so

much heat

that I can't help but

be reminded of a

supernova.

(against my will,

my satin silk stretching

fabric, my iron will).

I look at you and I see

daydreams personified, and I see

a boy that I like and could love: dial up through corkscrew

wires and send you streamlined straight

to me.

There are endless constellations

drawn loosely from freckle to

freckle, extending across

elbows and knees and every

joint

on my skin, but on yours

I'd only outline a single heart-

hopefully providing us

some kind of connectivity.

But the stars unfolding and criss-crossing

(caught, like diamonds in a web

of lace)

the nighttime are still

the same that I see

that you see,

that we see,

so that even if we will

never stare through

the same dirty windowpane,

we can still play

connect-the-dots,

though separately.