Sitting a row in front, her forehead rests on a tanned hand
perhaps in simple boredom, her thoughts
caged in by the rays of sunlight washing her brunette hair.
The train rattles on, passing empty shopfronts
and two boys racing each other on bicycles
I yawn, breathing the laziness around
'I could sit next to her' I imagine
my eyes fixed on her delicate eyelashes, but
foolishness is embarrassing
so I yawn again.
If love could be defined, it certainly cannot be
two strangers with unacquainted hearts.
That's not love - that's a childish crush, a fatal attraction,
an act of stalking!
Sigh.
OH she's leaving. Wait
Beauty.. Heaven.. Strawberries..!
You.. Me.. love.. Love!


gone