I felt sparks flying behind my eyes when they locked with yours.
I was worked up, sweating. You helped me take apart the garden beds,
set the screwdriver to the boards, showed me how it’s done.
I marveled in the way your dirty Carhartt pants fit, slim but loose,
gliding over your angles and curves. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
But words became trapped in my throat, glued to my insecurity.
She doesn’t like me. I was afraid of rejection, of shame.
Now I am afraid of never knowing you, of walking down streets
for the rest of my life and forever searching the faces for yours.
Now I am afraid that I made a mistake out of fear.
I should have asked your name, looked deep into your eyes,
brushed your arm, taken your hand, smiled at you longer.
Now all I can do is write a “Missed Connection” on Craigslist
and sit on my couch, thinking of your eyes
and how they melted me.