Curiosity Sated

A poem

Photo by Ivan Aleksic on Unsplash

Back of the class.
I remember the boy who held my hand,
fingers slick with sweat
under the desk.

Hoping no-one would turn, glance back, notice.
Half hoping that they would.

I had to ask, when he kept sitting
close to me at break,
so close that everyone noticed.

‘Do you think we’re going out?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

The half hope light dies in his eyes
when I shake my head and walk away,
ignoring the teasing taunts
of the chalk marked yard.

I never meant to hurt or harm.
They said I led you on.

All I wanted was that first kiss.