Steam whistles out
of the pot, tea
is ready, as a
departing train--
her smile
sweeps my depression
like the moors
of Scotland; rain
that never falls on my wilted crop:
your heart, a target
I can not reach,
your voices' clip
gyrates through my veins,
eyes a shrouded enigmatic conundrum.
Yolk drips
from my
face,
a dejected chick,
like an ugly duckling
I smile sheepishly;
my love for you
brings on self-loathing that I must endure,
delicate, though is her face,
so intricate, cheek
a shade to fulfill,
freckles to dapple; necking,
slender and graceful:
imperfections reconciled in heart.
Where am I going without you?
