by Michael Escoubas

You were like this
when I saw you that first time.

I approached you
knees trembling in fear over

what the other
might think. Your cheeks were pink

in a poppy's blush.
Then the crimson flush found its way

down your neck onto
your chest. You could hardly speak.

I understood because
my awkwardness was worse than yours.

You welcomed me
into your home, introduced me

to your Mom and Dad.
I had your corsage in a see-through box,

pristine in its reticent blush.
You were like this then, your blush,

light as ever, from Prom night
until now, still there, pink and prominent.


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