Rosebud lips and red rose hips.

A finger flutters to softly tuck her hair behind her ear

He sees the cover and snorts :

“love story”

And I strangle the book as if I squeeze it hard enough

The pink and purples and hearts will drip off and leave me clean again.

Later, I can't compute a derivation of my shame.

Why was I embarrassed, why was this book any lesser?

Why does he not like love, learn love, learn life

From the same tune, different rhythm.

Hearts and love are synonymous, but aren't.

Girls and romance aren't the same, but are.

The symbols drip with shame, we soak and squeeze.

Boys and balconies, girls and drain pipes

I scale the walls and jump.