May I bleed my thoughts onto a page, splattering the words in a sentimental frenzy of feeling?
May I?
Is it socially incorrect for my thoughts to soar as soon as his picture greets my eyes with the warm scent of his cologne afterwashing my brain?
Is it?
Am I allowed to close my eyes and hang his picture on the red curtains that cover them, leaving me to see him when I see nothing else?
Am I?

I ask questions such as these much too often.
     Do you deprive me the curiosity?
          Do you wish me gone?

Farewell then, my dearest friend.
You know not what I suffer.

Being told you are a beauty is beauty in and of itself.

Knowing he thinks that means the sainted world.
    But how do I know....unless he tells me?

May I ask, "Do you find me attractive?"

Is it socially incorrect for me to wish I knew his true intentions since he speaks so little about them?

Am I allowed to cry a little when I can only see him but once per cycle of the days and only dare to dream for the next meeting of our hearts, the next connection of my head to his shoulder?

May I?
Is it?
Am I?

Perhaps.