I meant to write a poem
about death and redemption and loss
the kind that terrifies readers and gets published in literary magazines.
Instead I found myself
describing the curve of your jaw
the birthmark on your cheek
the way you smile at me when I walk into class
the way you touch my arm to ask for the homework
and the way I tell myself that's not
the only reason you leaned over
and that your fingers lingered on my wrist
for an extra 2.3 seconds
(I counted)
and that you see past my numbers
and into my soul
Instead, I ended up describing
the way you turn my mind into a beautiful mess
and my heart into a blissful burn
You tend to distract me.