| To Colin by Reez
I
There you go again.
No –— don’t quirk your brow.
You’d never do anything wrong.
It’s a matter of
What you do to me
Rather than anything else.
II
This is how you’d look to me –—
That is, if you’d ever care
To glance back into my eyes.
That, to me, is as possible as
The lake you dived into, catching fire.
…On second thought,
You might be unaware that,
The moment you fell in,
You dragged the rest of the world with you
And put the oceans ablaze.
Ah, but what kind of flames did your match light?
It’s the kind of fire that
Isn’t really easy to extinguish–—
Instead, you throw more logs in to stoke it
Unwittingly.
You’ll never let it become ashes
Or fade into the ethers of your soul.
III
Imagine it’s between you and me.
I open the computer
Yet, it is you who turn me on
With your probing stare, catching my
Gaze in every direction,
Captured in black and white.
The dark curls brushing your forehead
Make my fingers want to follow suit.
Yet I am comforted by dipping my finger
In a cup of coffee,
Since you had one poured on yourself.
I won’t say your eyes are pools.
Actually, they are geysers
That steam with the heat
Emanating from the depths
Of your earth.
If I were given a chance
I’d let my fingers dance on your palms.
I know that, somehow, my future
Lies in them.
Your stride lets me dream of
Harried walks through the snow,
Carefree jumping in a bouncy castle,
A dip in the lake,
Or maybe, I’d like to stand still with you.
Your shoulders, I believe, were made
To be like Atlas’, since my world
Rests carefully, securely, on it.
Though I can’t help but feel that
There might be an earthquake;
You shake the ground without noticing.
My words are not enough to describe you,
Because I want the cliché of your perfection.
IV
You transport my mind
Back to the nineteenth century.
I could be Elizabeth, bantering, yet besotted
With your Darcy.
Or, fast-forward to recent days
I am Bridget, pretending to loathe you.
Even through alcoholic drinks and your barrister outfits,
I always fall prey to your gaze.
You are that painter
Who finds inspiration from a maid.
Can I really act like Griet, and sweep you off
Your feet like your brush on its canvas?
Dreaming is never a crime,
Though, at times, my thoughts about you
Would be guilty
In front of a jury.
You are not your characters.
Yet, even if you wear a mask in front of me
I can’t help myself.
I still fall.
V
I am more than just another
Star-struck girl, even if
I was born under your constellation.
Through the pages of history and magazines,
I try to see you through the glossy print.
You’ll always be a mystery. |
