My neighbour at the table doodles big penises, black hearts, band logos and stabby goth people in ink. I am “flustered” from some texts from Mark, so I doodle bad poetry instead.

A standout fuzz in the hair
and golden down on the chin
wakes a longing deep and rare
signaled by a stupid grin.

Morning chores and fast shower
and slurping tea on the run
better run to catch that hour
of school's oh so wicked fun.

While the day is soon over;
eight hours of us being split
like forever France and Dover
takes a certain patient grit.

A standout fuzz across the scalp
and the crooked happy smile
then you stand there like an alp 
burning me for that long while.

With that sickness that you gave
which caused me to lose my wit 
to write this poem about you, knave
because you make me lose my shit

Love is wicked and is kind
but I so have lost my mind.