Do I go for it?
Nerves go along with first dates.
How was I supposed to know what to expect,
what to think when you picked me up?
Things are different from text to face.
Your face, oh your face. That smile,
you weren't what I expected,
you were so much more as we sat
in the grass, cutting off the top blades
with nerves, working up to eye contact,
rambling on as the guy in the distance
flew a kite in the spring breeze.
But guys usually make the first move.
But before I knew, you had me hooked,
chatting about my childhood,
playing true or false in the coffee shop,
your hand on my shoulder blade,
protecting, sweet, (I don't think you saw me smiling,)
playful banter about your Elantra
and how my Impala could kick its ass.
You took me for me, weird was endearing,
my height, adorable, the attitude, cute.
"Do you want to...?"
Watching you navigate back to campus,
the silly side of me revealing itself
along with the touch of sass
which you asked if I was from decades ago
using sassy as an adjective.
And when we finally pulled into that parking lot,
I didn't want to leave.
I want to.
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