They got on the third car of the
F train at the Second Avenue stop,
Not my usual route:
Teenagers in jeans, bags at their sides,
Clinging to each other as if they’d just been on
Some great adventure.
They were so gentle and lovely and
Each time he touched her forehead, shoulder, waist,
Shivers ran down my spine.
They sat close, shared earphones, her
Head fell to his low-enough shoulder:
He closed his eyes, breathed her hair.
I imagine them as skeletons and the
Tenderness is still there.
She reached out her soft hands and
Held his lower stomach,
Grasped the fabric of his shirt.
He lowered his head,
Ready to listen:
She just pushed her thick, warm
Lips to meet his chin.
Their closed eyelids smiled and their
Necks tingled, awaiting the next touch.
Her shopping bag
Fell to the floor and before
Her graceful arms could reach to get it
I saw through
The double-layered beige plastic,
Through the magnetism between their bodies:
Shayla Partridge, Age 17, Grade 12, Hunter College High School, Silver Key