If you think this is about you, it probably is

You don’t know how many times I’ve caught your hand before it could fall away from your hair
Put my hand on your chin to keep you from moving the angle of your cheek
Which catches the amber light in a way I have never seen
Like the sun is somehow new and its effects foreign to me
(And of course, I’m a gentleman, so all this in my mind)

How many times I’ve lost what you were saying
Based on the depthless reaches of your eyes
Small but piercing like a door, barely ajar, leading to an open place
I’ve never been and I’m dying to write about

It would embarrass me for you to know how often the sound of your voice strikes me like a melody I can’t remember,
that half sticks in my head, and echoes,
so the only tenable solution is to hear it again and again from the source
as near to constantly as I can
(Because a half finished tune is unacceptable and sad, even in one’s own mind)

You don’t know and I can’t tell you
Because words invariably bump into other things and change moments
So the part that I can’t reproduce, even in memory, would be lost
I’ve never been so greedy to know a person

You poor girl, the moment this passed from a detached fascination
To an enlightened choice (if ever there was a choice to be had)
I’m a fire on dry grass now, driving hard to your doorstep, growing stronger on the way

You can’t know but I can show you
Please allow me to demonstrate


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