Strange how deep under her skin he is.
She only knows him through his distant admiration
across darkened dance-floors and concert halls.
His desire waterfalls down her spine,
unnerves her, his heart’s poetry
troubles her through his hungry eyes.
She finds herself looking out for him,
wonders how much she likes to be admired,
how much she’s learning to admire?
previously published on Verse Wrights
meanwhile for those of a less romantic disposition, I've posted a tanka on Crafty Green Poet, you can read it here.
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