your finger traces our initials

By Sonam Kaloti, Arts Editor


then suddenly every love song
was about you. your name rings loud
in the tightness of my chest. clouds
look fluffier. my mere words long
to explain this. they feel so wrong,
weak, because the feeling isn’t in
poems and syllables. it spins
on steamed car windows. key glances
in classes. private advances,
worth it just to admire your grin.