Oh, yes, I liked him,
before he saw me under the light,
before his first glance landed on my forehead,
before he extended his right hand, like a gentleman,
introducing his name, where he came from – things I would love to know,
without asking me what my name was.

Oh, yes, I like him,
but why does that matter at all, while his smile
resembling the sky after each rain, his hands
with long fingers and pretty veins, his lips
curved like a cave that draws you in,
are locked into another person’s.

Oh, yes, I like him.
He thinks he knows me, not because of me,
but with his experience. Wisdom.
Empathy. All done with the touch of a glimpse.
I have thought of forgetting him,
yet my feelings for him are not strong enough.