SHE MAYBE.

A BOY AND GIRL ONE SUMMERY DAY IN 1962.

Maybe
it was the way
she sat
or the way

her head
titled slightly
or the promise
in her eyes,

dark and mysterious,
that outshone
the midday sun
on the school field;

I sitting there
next to her,
half shy
half opening up,

talking the talk,
eyeing her over,
taking in
her eyes,

the nose,
the lips partly open,
tongue moving
just along the edge.

Maybe
it was the scent
she wore,
applely,

flowery smell;
her small breasts,
pushing against
the white blouse,

the buttons
under pressure;
her hands on
her thighs at rest;

her dark hair,
brushed just so,
and she spoke,
but I half listened,

half not,
caring not
how well she sat,
she cool,

I, oh boy,
so hot.