You can always tell when she's in love.
By her clothes,
All ironed and neat.
Or her posture,
She stands alittle taller.
You can tell by her laugh,
Which always seems from the heart.
Or by the sighs that escape her lips,
Each a roadblock inside her head,
A dead end in the maze of her thoughts.

I stare at her.
And wonder who it is this time,
Is it John?
Who I saw walking home with her.
Or maybe it's Devon,
The new kid.
I look at her,
And wonder why she couldn't have chosen me,
For her flavor of the week.
I know all her expressions,
All her secrets.
I know what her favorite perfume is,
And I know how she thinks.

She catches me staring,
And blushes a rose pink-
Bringing her index finger to her lips.
Like that the information I knew
Was a small price to pay for loving her