Mm, yes.  
I find that the sultry of subtlety
does not hide well among the obvious!  
We catch each others eye
across crowded parlors
to steal off in the wings
for sodden romantic whispers.  

Her muted presence is a cloud born
particle of dust –
gathering the purest droplets,
to fall, and
falling waters accreting
into mighty rivers churning earth.  

Shamefully, perhaps by nature of a poetique,
my proclivity is to paint nuance up
like a dime-store ****,
parade her around in metaphors
under my propped writing arm,
my free hand palming a chained timepiece...
Oh how these nuances matter
as I slip a moment back into the pocket of time.