King Edward

You have the same first name
as the first boy I ever kissed.
On the cheek after school,
eight years old, bolder than
most. Scribbled notes
passed back and forth
inklings of love, too young
and too foolish, misguided
and premature.

You have the same first name
as the first boy I ever kissed.
Thirteen years ago, under the
streetlamp. And I ran away.
Ran towards your two arms,
waiting for me all this time,
hands that write me pages
of sweet words, outstretched
to draw me in.

And for the first time I wonder
if this could be it.