Boys

I befriended a boy during summer. It was a month ago.

That was exactly what I did: I befriended him.

He was at least four years younger

and at the sweetest spot, the sweetest age, that I could have asked for.

For I was walking on thin ice.

Only had it been a month after when I met him, while he was two three steps ahead

of that sweet spot, I would have lost a friend.

I am lucky it was all it could have been with him, being friends.

I played around with him like I was a child.

Played like I used to with my twin brother.

When sex did not matter the slightest.

and our only differences were merely the ones observable.

Symbols for nothing, so we played.

We played aggressively.

We played with a whimsical haste so much so that I yearn for it in boys now.

With a haste that only the lack of thinking could bring; because where we’d touched

and what we’d said had no reason to be

second guessed.

Me and my twin brother

Me and the boy during summer

We just played as we existed

But had that monster called puberty caught the boy before I did, I would have lost a friend.

A friend who was at the sweetest spot, the sweetest age,

that a boy can be.