I want to expand on that poem I wrote...I feel like I can do more with it.

You felt like

The thrill of riding my bike at night.

The wise stars above me,

Looking fake and bright like in a planetarium.

But they seemed to assure me with weighty reality:

This is real, raw as a sliced apple.

There was concrete below us that day,

And your shoulders and knees made me inhale,

Take a quick breath and catch it at the back of my throat.

Like almost-crying.

You were all legs and arms and hipbones,

And shrugs and made-up words.

You were awkward and earnest and innocent.

Wanting badly to be brave and true,

Wanting me.

There was a bridge,

And the hot summer was still clanging against the iron,

Though the crickets' chirping had turned the sky dark.

And there we were,

My foot around the juicy back of your calf,

Feeling nostalgic for that heat coming off of you

Already.