Noticed

It's not those rows and columns of As.
Those are
old news, repeating consistently.
No. Not when I hit a perfect low F, strong, full,
and robust.
Or when
I break thirty five seconds on my breaststroke 50.
It's when I catch you looking at me.

Those eyes.
They light my heart as a match lights a bomb.
And it will explode
into raging passion.

Cool down.
And settle.

Yes, all good things come to an end.
But for now, let's feel
that bomb's enormous heat.
Because for once
that little fat
kid is now skinny.

For once, I can breathe fully.
For once, I was noticed.