if beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

then those who cannot see her light

are merely blinded in the reflection.

 

she's gold and iron, so strong and lovely.

just a glance my way and my head spins,

an electric shock straight to my veins.

so startling, and yet I can't seem to look away.

 

I want to know her, but I don't know how,

if I were to reach across this gap and try,

I am not sure she'd smile and reach back.

that's too much risk for a coward like me,

it's a hint at vulnerably I cannot yet stand.

 

so for now I keep gazing from afar,

staring at the curving smile on her lovely lips,

the proud set to her pale, smooth shoulders.

I wonder how I could provoke such joy,

do I present her with magic, wit, art?

 

I try and try, always to no avail.

it seems that with things which I want,

nothing never comes out entirely right.

 

and then at last, I'm alone with my pen.

I think about her, it's always fucking her,

and this time, I begin to write.