My mouth tastes like Christmas, and all I can think about is other holidays.

It tastes like mistletoe and family,

and all I can wonder is if his tastes like the first day of school,

or the Fourth of July.

Not like I would know, but I've felt what warmth is and I want what he has.

I don't want to breathe anymore.

Every breath

forces my eyes

and mind

over to him

and the North Pole on my tongue.

We're so young,

too young.

He's so far away

and really,

I'm not running to catch him.

But

he should know

that when I look into those big round eyes

and those soft dark eyelashes that remind me of raven's feathers,

he should know

that all I want

is to see them closed.

I think he's trying to understand me,

but I won't let him because then he'd know

That my mouth tastes like Christmas,

and I would have to go.