by Jules Hostetter
sitting on the toilet while she pets the right side
of my head like I am an animal, hers to keep,
smooths back my hair, giggles quietly, “soft hair…”
I am not allowed to close my eyes or eat up
these few seconds how I wish,
we are friends we must only be friends now,
I would have let out the whimper
in my gut and my throat, for how long, the years
I’ve wanted her to touch me, would have
taken her hand and put her fingers in my mouth
one by one, still unwashed after using the bathroom,
the smooth of her airport manicure,
caressed the sparkling blue with my tongue,
and looked at her to say choose me,
this is what everything looks like.
Jules Hostetter is a 22 year old poet from Pennsylvania. She loves the ocean, roller skating, and listening to music.