You are the afternoon barista asking for her name.
You are purple streaks of life, sitting on a red train.
You are a fierce smile in the mountains of last week.
You are soft-spoken words on a Thursday night.
You are the first to greet others with a big, bear hug.
You are talent, and smart and creativity-unlimited.
You are wild hair,
And beating heart.
So tell me how
The “right” thing to do,
Is squint my eyes;
You out from the
Crowd of all the others
It can’t be done.
I simply won’t.
Love makes lists
Of those who