Her eyes already betrayed her
Waning patience...
I'm sorry I'm sorry was the feeling I gave back to her,
And she glanced, fuzzy,
Still looking down and
Continued to muse, completely dripped
In the syrup of her thoughts, then:
The twitch of the ear,
Untucked from the frenzied bundle of hair
Assured me that no,
"I'm just lost in the fruition of it all"
And she needn't say one word to me,
Because she's reading my mind already;
I would tell these things only to Dallas
But she's impatient and told me to write
Them all down-
I glanced back up but still her windows
Betrayed the same storm raging her
Subtle consciousness:
When does harvest start?
And I don't know either, because I'm Hungry too;
And even as I sit and watch and glance
(Now witness her statued eyes)
I wonder
Will this creation cure her feelings
Or simply treat them;
What does she prefer?