By Sonam Kaloti, Arts Editor
All I see are your eyes. It’s so sad
that the rest of your face is hiding.
I want to see your rose blush—your cheeks
flush every time I compliment you.
Oxytocin guts. Thursdays you have
to go. Mistletoe: still deciding
if we should kiss (and when), cause for weeks
I’ve been infatuated. It’s true
that I miss your smile and your voice when
you sound tired, sleepy by choice but soft.
No mistletoe up, so I will send
you my wishlist with all I require.
Making eye contact in class again
thinking you’re shy and nervous and hot
(sorry). Want you to be my boyfriend,
feel your teeth and get caught by desire.
