oxford sun

steaming scorching sun melts
the aching sky with pitiful hissing
drops that spill dischordant
blue onto the sprawling fibers of
this field and it burns.
the way you carefully place your
stuffy brown oxfords
into my precise size 7 footsteps is
enchanting but i fear that you
feel much too much
much too often for me.
you might be alarmed to note that
i'm falling quite madly in
love with another boy whose oxfords
are classy and tan
and whose footsteps are centimeters
away from my own
in the English room now as you
fidget nervously and try to conjure
up something clever to say to me.
pulsing throbbing star pulls me in
too closely and complains that there
isn't enough time here in this
turbulent orbital while dodging angry red
fire ants and never-satisfied black holes
to sit quietly on the whitewashed porch
of a Nantucket summer home having
deep conversations about Shakespeare and
laundary detergent, and things
of the imporant sort.
i've found that my taste is quite earnest
and i wish that you would stop
writing me poetry.