8th grade:
boys on this
side, girls on
that, neither really
wanting to, but
feeling that they
might,
could,
should.
Someone crosses, then
it seems that
they all are. And
in the quiet, awkward
moments of clumsy
embrace and
early, stumbling steps of
romance
I remember
a purity and blazing
naivete that seemed
to shame us all into
pushing each other as
far as we could,
until, relieved, we
found our innocence
rubbed away.

AcB 12.2.99