And Shakespeare said that which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet

So is it foolishness that I spend so much time pondering the name of you 

my thief 

The criminal who stole away into the corner of my mouth and with her power did nothing but form a dimple

Was it love or admiration? 

that pulled up the edge of my lips into that simple smile

Tight 

Taunt

Innocent but painful

And just as quickly as I became electrified by the half-moon mirror on your mouth

We froze in place  

like criminals scared of the officer’s pearly white flashlight 

the paralyzing beat of a siren 

The teasing question

so unknowingly torturous

the answer so tantalizing impossible

It makes me question whether or not they are right

Is it love or just admiration?

And if I do dub this feeling with a name forbidden

Would you really be a thief that belonged in prison?

Or would they? 

For taking love and telling me to call it admiration