Unlikely

I would not choose you, your habit
of arriving on your bike, tearing off your sweater
like a boy would - up, over your head
so it takes your shirt too, showing me
long muscles of your back
I can't take my eyes off

but each time we're drawn, gravity or some science
bringing us together, in whatever room
bumping gently, finding we are knee to knee
foot to foot - or once me sitting, arms wide
you kneeling at my feet.

I would not choose you, the speed you talk
the way you bounce round rooms - a powerball -
talk 90 mph of books and games
and fill the room with sparks
gesture with those massive hands
I can't stop looking at

but I'm aware of you - can't shake
that feeling when I approach that
our arms are open, the sheer silliness
of measuring up our boots, side by side
yours twice as wide
is wholesome. Nice.