'Find Me', It Read,

'Find Me', It Read,

the first love heart that ever addressed me.
I am a romantic. Not old or new.
Not an old romantic, waiting to be a wife.
Not a new romantic, crossing genders with lipstick.
Just a romantic who likes the words find me.

'Find Me'. Implying the wait I feel.
I wait for the powder to touch my lips,
for the crush inside my mouth.
I wait for the fizz at the back of my throat,
breathless whilst it travels down. 'Find Me'.

'Find Me'. I am seduced by the phrase.
Upon each, sweet sayings in old fashioned letters.
They don't belong to me, these 'I Love You's'.
Sweet nothings. They mean nothing here.
But in another hand, in another time, I am found.