On the grass

I want to kiss my best friend.

In the field, at sunset, lying apart, 
We admitted our attraction.  
Or, at least, a distant ninth grade infatuation.

But I want to kiss her. 
I want to hold hands and make puppy eyes. 
I want to do ninth grade all over again.

I want her to dance me back through highschool. 
Twirling past kurt abbreviations,
In the expanded delirium of languid love.  
The little black marks on report cards,
Would be senseless in my dewy eyes.  

I would have loved to fall
Onto the grass, 
Off the path, 
Into her arms. 

Why didn’t I kiss her before, 
Before we committed ourselves
To accomplishment’s ever tilting edge?