Men like you make me want
to write poetry.
And, though it is unclear why,
I find myself flooded with the most
complex emotions anyone has ever
felt when I see you.
I know your eyes do not search for mine
across the room, nor does
your heart ache at my voice.
Yet you are aware,
and you somehow respect my feelings
for you– as if proud that
I even let myself get this far.
And while I have not the right,
I still worry over every
move you make.
Each tired sigh, every nervous laugh.
I see them, just as I see
everything you do.
So yes, maybe men like you make
me want to write poetry.
Okay, well, maybe only
you.
A short burst about my current thoughts. My muse, indeed.