Sometimes I feel like you might
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See into me, instead of through
My apparent transparency.
I almost think, in those brief moments,
That if I were to grab ahold of
My dried-up courage and just lean into you,
You might accept it.
And accept it again.
Where can I look when all I see
Is your translucent, ethereal self
Worshipping the deceitful mistress
Who spells you into complacency?
Is it the way she cocks her head
Just so, as if to assure you of her passivity,
Or the smile she gives you when
You say something redundant?
Perhaps itís neither, and she snares you
With something I canít fathom,
Wherein my fearless sauciness and blind determination
Couldnít possibly compare.
How, then, do I explain the feelings
That amass in you
And shoot light-waves into my chest,
Radiating from an infinite source
Of awkward height, self-assured ruggedness
And years of terrible jokes
That only we know to laugh at?
How can I say in all fairness
That you feel nothing,
When I can sense the heat from your body
As well as the interest in the depths
Of somber eyes?
And when I smile and raise and elegant eyebrow,
Do you not look abashed
As though my opinion meant something?
She and you are two galaxies
Careening apart faster
Than you can care to contemplate,
While I, the Venus to your Neptune,
Am perhaps too close for comfort.
On what plane we all shall meet,
And in what galaxy, none shall know.