Olivia M Sokolowski is a poet currently pursuing her PhD at Florida State University. She earned her MFA at University of North Carolina Wilmington and her undergraduate degree at Berry College. Her work is recently featured or forthcoming in Lake Effect, Tupelo Quarterly, Gulf Coast, and Grub Street Literary Magazine. You can find Olivia online at oliviasoko.com.

Ode on Wisteria, Crushes & Beginners' Italian

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Today on the street I saw a guy who looked just like

Timothée Chalamet      so cute      it made me really

want to tear his hair out      a friend told me once

      this urge has a term but I’ve forgotten it

oh well      maybe since I’m learning Italian

I can offer you this:      tu sei il ragazzo

      del burro,      e io ho il coltello!       geez...

this month I’ve had at least three debates over Armie

Fucking Hammer      tre discorsi, almeno       the jackass

with teeth like grafts from the moon      just

imagine him saying:       “Io sono cento

per cento      un cannibale”       an ex of his

said he used to want a few of her ribs

for a barbecue      which is alarming      for one

because it sounds like a darker version

     of something my husband would say     or maybe

Lucia di Lammermoor… on a good day…     

and yes myself      both today at twenty-six

     and in my ancient diary of crushes:

in tartare-red gel pen I wrote      “oh Derek.

i love him so much. i feel      very

pashonate” [sic]      molto appassionato      about

how he shook the salt      from his hair in jiu-jitsu…

yum I wrote Nathan ripping up pepperoni

from the crust of eighth grade lunch: the oil

on his nose like a fried egg      lui ha l’uovo

      fritto       but I digress:      who of us here

has not felt the urge on their beloved’s lap

to turn and bite the butterwhite skein of fat

that holds the lingo of their muscle?      mangiamo

tutti la carne dell’amore      pure awe

to love’s changeling vocab      how it can spoil

and be spoiled     but for now it’s easy to stand

on the block and say ragazzo      libro d’amore,

I could dine you right down to your spine

      garnished with the full-fat swathes of wisteria

that line our street      il glicine      devouring     

the spring—which I’ve noticed this year

       as if for the very first time.

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