"The Edge Of Knowing"
The Student:
I wasn't supposed to notice her.
Not like this
not trace the slope of her collarbone with my eyes
as if it were a map to something forbidden.
Not hear my name when she said it,
like velvet stretched over secrets.
She is knowledge in silk skin
every word she speaks
makes me want to write poems in my notebook
just to keep her voice
trapped between pages.
Like I could tame her that way.
Like I'd want to.
Her smile is a dare,
and when her gaze holds me too long,
I forget the question she asked
forget the air, the classroom,
even who I was
before she walked in.
There's something older in her,
like she's lived a thousand lives
and each one taught her how to unmake
a girl like me.
Slowly.
Elegantly.
Beautifully.
I feel her eyes on me when I answer,
when I speak too quickly,
when my fingers tremble just a little
around my pen.
I think she likes it.
I think she knows.
Because today, when I stayed after class
pretending to pack slowly,
lingering just long enough
she brushed by me,
and the air between us
felt like it caught fire.
My skin still hums where she passed.
Like a memory I didn't ask for
but crave anyway.
I know this is dangerous.
I know I'm naive.
But I'm curious.
And curiosity,
in the hands of a woman like her,
feels like a lit match
dropped into dry leaves.