You met a girl last night,
You told me, excitement tumbling between your words,
your face flushed.
She was wearing a pink dress.
She was on the edge of the dancefloor when you spotted her,
swaying, eyes closed behind glasses
at a club
where you were on the prowl.
You asked her to dance.
That’s sweet, but no.
You asked her what she did.
I’m a poet
I felt the heat rush to my cheeks
rosy spots of envy.
I wanted to be the girl in the pink dress,
the multicolored lights illuminating my hair softly,
lost in the music and the moment
asked me to dance
and said I was a poet.