For want of being wanted,
I fear that I've flaunted my fancies
far too close
to the looking glass;
figments and photographs
of deep affections swiftly fleeting -
and fading fast.
I'm watching each curl unfurl,
as I twirl each lock
around my finger,
flushing as my thoughts of you
linger and wander to
what we ought to be.
So excuse me
if I start to stutter or stare,
but these are the thoughts
and feelings
of our forever
and I feared that
they were coming to a close,
sooner than never.
Dawn oft severs these somnial ties;
sweet dreams,
best left to meetings late at night.
And try as I might
I can only defiantly fight
and bide the times
in-between flights.
I know my light's not quite
the same sort as yours.
My fluorescence falls a dite short
of the sight of
your delightful phosphorescence.
And at such a far-flung distance,
I cannot fathom
really
being worth the airfare.
Yet here you are,
still sitting there.
So excuse me
while I stutter
and start to stare.