When I think of you:

Thick frames with thicker lenses,

Red roses drawn or, more accurately,

Crafted-- just for me.

Give me lamp-lit living rooms,

And monochromatic bedding.

Maybe, cinnamon toast so burnt, I can only taste grain.

Yellow terry cloth and acrylic paints.

Moments turned to staring contests,

And staring contests turned to laughs.

 

When I think of you:

Red means not passion,

Only warmth.

If you cared for God’s graces,

I’d let you know you’d never fall far from them.

But you don’t.

You intimidate and infuriate me,

To a point where I can do nothing but admire you.

 

When I see you:

I cannot find the words to say.

Only blushes and embarrassment,

Because what was once there still lingers, untouched.

Unaddressed.  

You throw me for a loop,

And drag me through the ringer.

Which is why I’m wary when I walk into your favorite restaurant.

I don’t go some places when you’re in town,

Seeing you brings me utter delight but fills my cup with a melancholy kind of love.