When I gaze at her/
and dream,/
do I become/
as every other one/
who has ever looked/
in rapt admiration,/
mouth agape,/
trying to quell/
unexpected fire?/
Or am I one/
who can look to the fire,/
feel the heat,/
imagine the flame,/
and, still,/
not get burned?
If all I can do/
is pray for you, then that is/
what I’ll gladly do.
Does she ever think/
of me constantly? Or am/
I simply dreaming?
I hope you’re doing/
well. This rhyme’s to tell you: I’m/
(still) interested!
The blonde teacher/
crossed and uncrossed/
her ankles slow /
and lo!/
I watched her toes/
flow/
back-and-forth and to-and-fro/
and so/
I wondered where she would go/
if she clicked together, in the front row,/
her ruby slippers? I-O/
wa? Idaho?
I don’t know.
I confess:
I have stress
wondering
if I’ll pass the test.
If her answer is still “yes”.
Amidst this duress
I can just hope for the best.
And wait.
I like waving at/
the sun daily instead of/
just once a quarter.
Or
the sun once a day instead/
of once a quarter.
She was once intense/
in chasing me. Should I be/
that way t’wards her now?
She sits with her cats,
and books she should have read;
Dreams of Wonderland
and stares vacantly ahead.
As the felines stretch and purr,
and the sun brightly shines,
she hears lawnmowers whirr
and the 2-cycles whine.
Yet she, with so much to do,
moves to her chair from her bed,
stores the words she’s thought through,
and turns on Netflix instead.
For $7.99 she vacates her head,
and buries her mind in The Walking Dead.
I’m sure there are a lot of guys /
who text you more than I./
But I doubt there are many who/
think about you/
as much as I do.