You are a ridiculous woman
who makes me ponder the most...
innocuous of sentences for... anything
that might betray a semblance of something
deep beneath your simple surface.
I shouldn't like you.
At least I don't know why I do,
and there are so many reasons too.

Your freckles and chromatic shifting eyes,
telling me lies, I swear to you they are green...
Your voice and that smile with a dot to your lips
and the way you look to the world, wide open
yet

so brilliantly concealed.

The wisps of your hair, escaping from their tie
and how ***** your hands are, I know the creases
by sight; even those covered by paint.

Yet I have not felt them, clasped them in mine...
How fragile are you? You could break at my touch,
or run in fear at my boorishness.
You, such a beautiful flower, give me nothing but questions,
how can I pick you without plucking your stem,
Should I bring you water, do I block your sun?
I do not speak Flower...

So yet you elude me, without ever having moved.
While I fight to find the face past the flowers.
To find the heart of you,
the part of you that draws me in.
The reason that I like you.