*Say, a star has the eyes
To gaze at you, holding out its telescope,
And decide to leave its post to be with you,
Or on second thought, just to get a better angle
Of your laugh-smile-wink impeccable,
Would it still be foolish
To say, with all profundities,
That you, indeed, are beautiful?
What does it matter, tonight
The cicadas sing of hyperboles.
There's a certain cold, sometimes,
In the wind, as in a heart.
The warmth is in the blankets there
On my bedroom, something
That your sweater will never know.
Friendship is basic love.
The moon has its own old course,
As shadows, timely, vary,
Faithful to its better half.
Now, tell me,
Laugh at me, reason with me,
With those agitated eyes,
Which are foreign to the idea
Of these mysteries.
Isn't it possible, terribly so,
For one, for anyone,
For someone, for me,
To fall in love with you,
My friend?*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
*Say, a star has the eyes
To gaze at you, holding out its telescope,
And decide to leave its post to be with you,
Or on second thought, just to get a better angle
Of your laugh-smile-wink impeccable,
Would it still be foolish
To say, with all profundities,
That you, indeed, are beautiful?
What does it matter, tonight
The cicadas sing of hyperboles.
There's a certain cold, sometimes,
In the wind, as in a heart.
The warmth is in the blankets there
On my bedroom, something
That your sweater will never know.
Friendship is basic love.
The moon has its own old course,
As shadows, timely, vary,
Faithful to its better half.
Now, tell me,
Laugh at me, reason with me,
With those agitated eyes,
Which are foreign to the idea
Of these mysteries.
Isn't it possible, terribly so,
For one, for anyone,
For someone, for me,
To fall in love with you,
My friend?*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Revised.
