It's not that I'm afraid
it's just that I'm unsure--
is love perchance purblind
and the lover at first opaque,
or might love transmit through eyes
which convert the daring lover staid?
I once considered the latter
when I looked into his eyes,
but I sense my faulty mind
judging my heart with hindsight.
Now that all--or most--is severed,
I bury his clothes and sultry patter,
Subconsciously.
Lo and behold,
a heart dead to the world,
a lover frozen in time
lies sick and dormant
from her distant love,
but still it burns, a fervor, so silently.
And then you appear.
So unexpectedly, you emerged
from the pages and into my thoughts.
Stranger has turned familiar,
and friend into beloved.
Read me, so silently, my dear.
My dear.
True love is never staid.
Love may come our way.
