infatuation

if beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

then those who cannot see her light

are merely blinded in the reflection.

she's gold and iron, so strong and lovely.

just a glance my way and my head spins,

an electric shock straight to my veins.

so startling, and yet I can't seem to look away.

I want to know her, but I don't know how,

if I were to reach across this gap and try,

I am not sure she'd smile and reach back.

that's too much risk for a coward like me,

it's a hint at vulnerably I cannot yet stand.

so for now I keep gazing from afar,

staring at the curving smile on her lovely lips,

the proud set to her pale, smooth shoulders.

I wonder how I could provoke such joy,

do I present her with magic, wit, art?

I try and try, always to no avail.

it seems that with things which I want,

nothing never comes out entirely right.

and then at last, I'm alone with my pen.

I think about her, it's always fucking her,

and this time, I begin to write.