(I am not thinking of you
as I write this—I am not
writing of you either
because you wouldn’t know
if I were, even if I were
and I am not)

I can’t help but look at you
with regret, a rueful smile
across lips begging silently
to be kissed and told
promises of love, the ones
you give to boys you want

save one for a silver-eyed girl
if you please?

I would treat you like
the queen of England
or Denmark if you want
to be Ophelia with a crown
of buttercups and daisies
I’d be your knight, your
champion Amazonian
Sapphist sister-lover
Horatio begging you to run
away from this kingdom
full of madness and disease

your father-mother-brother
doesn’t have to know

you could be my Juliet
teaching torches to burn
like the sun, making silver shine
just as bright and beautiful
as gold—you want passion
I can be Romeo raging against
the world and star-crossed fate
I can be a lioness at your feet
raring for the hunt, the chase
to run with you across fields
then tumble together in the warm grass

we could have a great love
if you’d only see
I’d be anything for you
if you could find a reason to
fall in love
with me

open your eyes
to the beautiful world
of what could be
trust me, take my hand
you’ll see
boys have nothing on me