I wish I could figure out
how I feel about you
but I have no doubt
that I do feel about you.
I think that will suffice
and I’ll just be … nice.

(Oh, thou blonde vixen!
With decoutage’ rare!
How can we ignore you
and not stop and stare?!?!
But some of us
must avert our eyes,
and avoid the fuss;
not be surprised,
for to fully view you
would, like flamming rockets
our minds undo,
and burn our eyes from our sockets.)

To glimpse the regal majesty and stare
would take us into higher, rareified air.
Could we survive?
No, not in the least.
But ’twill be good to have been alive
and participated in your feast.