World revolves around poetry

"Most boys prefer my little sister," Saphy said, looking up at the sky. "Because she has more curves and is slimmer and doesn't have glasses and will put out easily."

"You don't want to be with a guy that thinks like that anyway..."

"Not, not really," Saphy agreed.

"You want to be with a guy who doesn't care how skinny you are or if you wear glasses...or how easy you..." Kenny pulled a face, uncomfortable with what he was about to say, "'put out'."

Saphy blushed and looked away.
"Yeah..."

Kenny sighed. "Don't lose faith yet."

"Yeah... faith if fun."

"Hm?"

"I'm good at keeping faith."

"Good."

She smiled.
"You're very easy to talk to, Kenneth."

Kenneth smiled. "So are you..."

Saphy blushed and pulled her glasses back up, taking her pen from her pocket and started to write on her arms again, in between the silver words.

"Can I read what you've written?"

She showed him her arm, blushing.

/Almost anywhere there is a poem lying around
Waiting for someone to lift it up, dust it off./

Kenneth smiled. "Cute."

"Elegy of the Flowing Touch, by Christopher Middleton."

"Mm...do you write your own poetry?"

"A little," she said, turning over her arm.

/It can never be silent
As long as there is love/

Kenneth smiled. "Sweet."

She shrugged, blushing and turning away.

"You're a sweet girl, Saphy..."

Saphy blushed even darker and ducked her head.

Kenneth laughed.

"It's not funny!"