upon first attractiveness, mixed with a self-assessment, pretending you don’t have a “league,” yet then wondering if s/he’ll speak to you, the walk up is full of butterflies,
just a few miles into town round where the speed limit changes & the grass seems to grow higher on the banks than on the football fields, the front yards &
s/he lives life from one to the next hopping along the jilted lovers like a frog going from stone to stone just above the water’s edge, because to be alone for only a few seconds