Something like breathing

He's a boy with beautiful eyes and a laugh like rainbows spilling over long grass

And you're a girl with hair the colour of water in moonlight

Apart you're breathtaking but

Together you're nothing.

And it's stumbling feet and breath laced with firewhiskey fanning over your neck and it's wrapping your hand in his (too large) one and dragging him from the party without a backwards glance-

It's rough kisses in the dark broom closet and it's your back hitting the wall and his lips on yours and your legs round his waist and-

It's your skirt riding up in class to show a strip of liquid rose-petal skin where your stockings finish

And your shirt being one button lower than normal

And his beautiful eyes on the back of your river-in-sunlight hair-

So it's you leaving class with a sway in your hips

And being grabbed into the fourth floor broom closet

And leaving with your hair a mess and bruises on your neck

Because kissing him is something like breathing

And it's a month of fumbles in the dark (that you crave more than food or drink or, hell, even more than b r e a t h i n g)

In corners of empty rooms

Forgotten corridors

The ever-popular broom closets

And it's tugging your skirt down and straightening your shirt

Your fingers through tangled sunshine hair

And it's slipping from the broom closets without a backwards glance

And beneath-lashes glances at other boys

With beautiful smiles

Because kissing him is something like drowning

And he's just a boy

With beautiful eyes

and a laugh like rainbows spilling over long grass.

And really, together, you're nothing.