sidewalk-ers, etc.

I've never liked the boys that take the sidewalk.

I liked grass-cutters and fastest-way-there types of people,

whose shoes matched their personality.

Collars and speeding tickets and conversations that moved too fast for physics,

boys whose eyes ask for the next big thing.

I've never liked boys that stayed on sidewalks.

I wanted nail-biters,

and drug-inducing lovers who use words as their needles,

who's love was in a classroom

and that classroom was on the other side of the world

and they were late.

I wanted shortcut-lovers until I got lost on the way to one.

I thought sidewalk-ers slowed the journey,

boys who paced on the longest route;

I thought they preferred gravel to fresh dirt,

because energy couldn't be wasted on new boundaries.

I thought they were scared of getting their feet dirty.

I've never liked boys that take the sidewalk

because I was wrong about them.

Sidewalkers are the long-conversation-lovers,

they take the scenic route

and spend their creativity on mountain ranges

and flower types.

They find love along the cement lines,

take easy paces on their walks so they can ask you all the questions their eyes are asking.

Sidewalkers kiss slowly,

deeply,

counting the atoms of your skin,

breathing deep because the seconds don't spoil the story.

They unravel you,

like delicate paper,

to preserve every word and every fraction of your value.

I never liked them

because they were lovers.

I never liked boys that took the sidewalk

because I never stopped to ask why.