The Crush

Nervous glances we exchange

   across the lunch yard, 

our eyes locked in a nervous dance,

  bounding apart the second they meet

 

Too nervous to say aloud, 

  that my stomach is aflutter

Our friends took note

  of the words I spoke

 

And propt us to take a step

  To him I handed a slip

     of torn notebook paper

Saying "Happy Birthday, here's my number"

 

Nervous day and night that follow

  until once again, our eyes' dance began

But then up he walked,

   and to me he talked

Asking for a date

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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