Boys

There are the cute, lank 
lifeguards at work,
but they aren't the kind
I want to push against the
washers and run my hands over.

There are the boys with nimble
fingers who bag my groceries,
but their strong hands aren't 
the ones I want to hold.

There are the boys in passing
with curious smiles and heads
bent downwards, but they 
aren't the ones whose eyes
I want mine to lock with.

There are the boys who 
come to go swimming and are
polite and tanned, but I don't say
anything special to them,
they aren't the ones I use my
words for.

I save precious words
and break yearning glances,
I shake off the feeling,
the need to be held.
I sleep alone
with a cold side
to my right,
the empty dark
space where someone
might be someday,
someday.

I wring my hands
with nerves abound
at the sea
of boys who aren't you.
The softness of their faces
and their kind voices
fall flat at my feet
with hollow, thudding noises
to be hidden by a heartbeat.

There are boys with 
pretty faces and long eyelashes,
toned arms and laughs like
wind chimes,
but I don't want to stargaze with them,
I don't want them to laugh next to me
at the cinema.

I am spoiled by the yellow-lemon hope
and her hardness in life
and the cold space in my bed.
As I wait with ashen face
and tired eyes
for something like you.