Talk about meeting
your hopes and dreams
over sweet berry croffles
at a hole-in-the-wall
Chow Kit cafe
—post some artech show
in midst of
art galleria;
in midst of
your
hysteria
of the books
you have bought
and borrowed.

Your smile,
your lips,
your posture.

Tall.
Dark.
Untitled.

You are a vision
that I could not
get my hands on.
I could only laid my eyes upon
your sturdy shoulders
your fidgety demeanour
your diplomatic saviour
your panicky composure
and your
metallic
alpha
character.

Talk about meeting
your despair
and disappointment,
pragmatism
hedonism
over
green tea
and bitter coffees
—post dashing unshielded
through the rain.

Tall.
Dark.
Entitled—
                      you
          ­                         are.

Yet I could
not help to wish
I wish I were yours,
just as I wish you were mine.

Make me yours.
Dominate me.
Conquer me.
All yours,
I am
not.