Christopher
I keep doing it because I can’t
believe it’s real.
Annabelle didn’t cringe
when I confessed.
She turned redder than me,
rosy apple red,
And when I took her hand
there was a spark.
Her eyes widened as it dawned
on her that it was me,
Then she pulled out the poem,
crumpled and creased,
And I nodded and said,
I hope you liked it,
And I could tell by her smile
that she did.
Then the door banged open
and the others clomped in,
Shattering our moment
like glass.