I read you, in the lines of unexpected declarations
I don’t know you, only of you, and I am …
confused by my own admiration; separate from attraction,
you are as a newfound discovery, as the anticipation
of an unopened package on Christmas morning.
Perhaps I’ve no right to wonder about the gifts inside,
as they should never be mine to own.
I’m among the inquisitive, searching your eyes for the
vulnerability of your written word. Is it there?
I dare not allow myself to look too closely.
I may find myself drowning in your indigo ink,
only to surrender a blue heart in the offing.
I’ll stand in the safety of your poetic shore;
Others shall ride your waves.
(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablo_montt/476276950/”>Pablo Montt</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>)