How did we let ourselves become so lovesick? Our hearts oozed right into our seats.
You at the head of the class called to each of us like a beacon.
At first my writing was about you and then it was about writing about you and so forth. Soon my writing was dribble. And then suddenly it was better.
You were the subject and the tenor. You frequently put ends to our fangirl dribble and replaced it with something of substance. More viscous.
That next week, seeing you at the market on campus let me know you had to be a make-out pinnacle.
Seeing as how your wife, the acrobat, shared you with us five days each week all the day long and didn’t seem to mind.
Not once did you seem stretched too thin.