Sunday, December 11, 2005

Etched

I think she is lovely, feisty, fun. Her impatience makes me laugh.
Then I find out who she is. How odd, I think.

It is not a match I would have made among a crowd: her icy glamour, your easy grace.
You look like, if you love someone, you would give her everything you have.
She looks like she would take it.

What does she see? Does she think she is better-looking than you are? Probably.
I think no more until I see you again.

Entirely by coincidence, we are standing much too close.
The world opens when you smile at me.

Her coy smile. Her impatience. She acts like you are wrapped around her finger.
(The one with the diamond.)

I leave, determined to forget.

You never would have known.

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