I own no broomstick, cannot afford a car,
and sometimes I walk in circles
or a couple miles too far,
but every step I take is another in your direction –
a realm I will eventually belong to,
the demesne of desperate affection.

Once I touch my arrival, we will speak of my walk,
seven hundredth time’s the charm
even when you talk,
and soon your lips won’t do all the telling,
as we meet our hardened hands now –
a mere, simple cause of hearts’ rebelling.

Will you look me in the eye and speak a lover’s psalm
or will I stand in a corridor with my head held long?
Do I risk this chance of falling out of tune
by pursuing trust in a vacated room?

Well, whatever it may be, we shall certainly see;
I’m willing to gamble everything
for the moment our eyes meet in eternity.