a boy is just a boy until
he tells you that you’re pretty
and you fear that’s not enough,
because boys like him deserve
paintings by Da Vinci
instead of sidewalk scribbles,
and sculptures by Michaelangelo
instead of sandcastles,
and chapels like Sistine,
instead of roadside gas stations.

a boy is just a boy until
he smiles when he sees you
and you wonder what he’s thinking,
do boys like him
think of girls like you?
girls with sweaty hands
and heavy hearts
to match their bodies.

a boy is just a boy until
he asks you if you like him
and you laugh like it’s a joke,
because boys like him aren’t liked,
they’re treasured like diamonds
found near craters,
and cherished like good times
when times get bad,
and worshipped like gods
so sublime, they earn scriptures.