Monday, May 15, 2017

poetry like flowers, is it's own excuse.



Not asked, rarely given
once seen, sometime smitten
alone we walk
eye contact barely
and yet wondering,
fairly

Could it be, would have been?
might have happened
if not then...

passed unasked
never opened
that which said, is NEVER spoken
attraction based not upon interaction
just passing by, our mind's attention

Alas, we never talked nor said
that which was inside our head
And yet, for a moment tho'
we shared something, felt it go

A moment's glance, a glimmer only
and on we marched,
unknowing.

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