She was pink like Spanish love songs, champagne-winged fairies, bejewelled thongs.
(What’s unique — about me?
My love of humanity!
I don’t always
use the term “bisexuality” but only
‘cause my desire
is bigger than language.)
The hot pink blush of my first girl
crush, My God, what a rush! — sent
my heart chakra spinning before
I'd even grown up. Before I knew of
meditation, masturbation, mojitos,
or the Buddhist school of Zen, and
definitely before I knew of women
liking women and men.
She was my main muse, teenage heart-fuse,
replaced Tiger Beat magazines and pop
culture dreams of Jesse McCartney serenading
me against a backdrop of foaming fountains. Her
pink was like flowers on porcelain plates, she was
always late, astrology-brained,
she was Gwen Stefani cool.
I’d stay up past midnight watching girl kiss girl
scenes on the family’s ancient Dell screen
after MSN chats with the hockey team
rolled us over into dream-time,
all our pixelated flirty lingo: ღ シ <(・ε・)>
our casual Will u be mine?’s.
Tahoma font, size twelve and fuchsia,
I didn’t know a crush could do that to you,
that it could turn your hair into into spring-time
air and make tulips grow from your fingernails
while your sense leaves for the night,
out salsa dancing.
The girl was pink like Spanish love songs,
champagne-winged fairies, bejewelled thongs.
That’s just me though, I think she’d call herself
some kinda black hole, but night after night,
I fell into her cotton candy clouds, prancing
around, so thrilled by the glitch she stitched
in my matrix.
I knew that mom said it was wrong,
but her name in my brain glowed like childhood
fame! Sequins! Paris! Miss Grande Dame!
I had no shame, love-struck on the lake misreading
Frank O’Hara poems — “m[o]st lovers of Eros
end up with Venus” — and so it goes.
Now the girl is gone, my young years have flown,
& I’ve grown a rainbow, psychedelic soul. I've been
to Iceland, been to Rome, drank green martinis &
played angel in white snow. I've recorded love songs
on my iPhone. I've painted my nails Aruba blue.
Life, what a view! Still, though, I dare to think,
there's been no colour sweeter than the pink
of my first girl crush.