My crush on you
is reaching that awkward age:
spindly, crackling,
unsure of itself
and its place in the room.
It is shy
and tries to hide in the background
whenever the lights come on.

My crush has grown past those nascent days
of flawless beauty
where it was faultless,
glowing perfection,
much like you, my dear.
My crush started out so vibrant
but has since become gangly.

I don’t know
how long this shall last.
If the crush makes it to full maturity,
it attains the full-blown obsession
of early promise.
Otherwise, it could die,
due to too many disappointments
contradicting my dedication
to you, to the crush,
and to romance
in general.

Or
my crush could die the other way,
burning out,
a phoenix,
only to transmogrify into something more majestic
and more mature
and more fulfilled?
Couldn’t my crush
transform into required love?

But right now it’s creepy.
OK.
Got it.