if then i am his observer (a stranger)
A/N: a group of five poems about random classmates during english class. All guys.
When I think of sun-browned skin
I think of him
in all his coffee bean colors and textures.
has tasted his skin until it looks like liquid brass.
The curve of his ear
fascinates me like a sea shell does,
spiraling me ever closer to his face
where resting behind a pondering exterior
His fingers drum around the nape of his neck
where dark red-blond hairs start to bleach
his neck is a fragile milk yellow
It reminds me of soybeans.
His hunched back staring at me.
He says he wants to be an astronaut.
I always thought
he was sick of being tall enough
to reach for the stars
and never truly being able to touch one.
His hand is square and broad and flat.
He scoffs at me.
In his hand he holds his book
the way he would hold a dove
and ruffles its pages like feathers.
As if his body is letting his spine grow,
he has a willowy gangly look.
He never looks at the printed words,
pretending he is.
He lets the dove flutter away from his loose grasp.
Reclining in the desk
hiding away from the world. Perhaps also,
the people around him,
The room is crowded like a subway.
The watch seems to chaff at his wrist.
The line of his back, his neck, his arm.
His fingers pressed against his head.
Unaware that I was watching him.
What, then, is he aware of?
We talk about reading palms.
His friends dismisses it, as does he.
Their nails, clean in a unadulterated way.
All pink and smooth at the top.
His friend also has pink fingers.
He does not.
long after I have turned away,
he looks at his own palm
as if he has never seen it before.
A/N: Yay! Poems! *smiles* BTW, thanks Newkrik, for your support!