Thin, white, and a golden rose watch
Diagonally across, I sit and watch
The perhaps brilliant musings of a blonde determined to be studious
And ask only the best questions, of what do I do with this
Beautiful pony tail wrapped piece of gold
Who is no more an object than she is decrepit old
And if at one time she'd look and see this poem I write in her presence
Would she deny it like daggers or receive it like presents?

I do not know, and isn't that the whole point?
To not know, to keep the mystery in joint,
The one I have as close to me as my knuckles
And an Erosical conjecture that buckles
And heaves as if to tell me that it's not right
To sit and watch the watch to my right

Yet this conjecture is as valid as it is fruitless
Just an inflection as invalid as she is cuteless
But the cuteness still doesn't inspire me
To inhale holiness and ask the dreaded why are we
Sitting so terribly far apart, my Heart,
When we could be together a beautiful piece of art?