UNSPOKEN
Late, she came that morning,
And next to him she sat,
Towards him she was leaning,
Her perfume he could scent,
His heart blended a feeling,
That he could never forget.
She spoke to him so little,
A sweet voice, a gentle fiddle,
That made his heart twiddle,
As a dance or a romantic riddle.
He had to keep it for himself,
Unfold like a book on a shelf,
-Eagerly, lustfully written,
Secretly, silently hidden-
He went further to dream,
A non-sense fictional stream,
Imagining what would seem,
Like a fancy illusion to deem,
His fate of having her for real,
But soon all of that would steal,
His attention to notice a gleam,
Of vivacious sun rays that beam,
Her skin light as a glittering cream,
With pink sublime shaped lips,
So elegant, heavenly made ideal,
To which his wicked desires kneel.
For every artful kiss on the cheek,
Went a feeling sensual and deep,
Till their eyes were meant to meet,
Exposing what he thought in secrete,
"Alas! a fool I am to conceive,
Such beauty into such conceit,
It shall never happen."
Cowardly, he said inbetween,
Fake glances of his childish deceit,
In a futile trial to hide and conceal,
What he thought to be absurd conceit,
That could be a fairytale so sweet,
She felt the same, he never knew.
A secret tale by a heartbeat,
He kept it untold; unspoken,
Between the lines forgotten,
Thus it is, a fairytale incomplete.
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