Each day I sit and watch my love
I watch her from afar
For fear of scaring her
I keep my love in shadows
My face, wounded of battle
scarred to point of un-identity
Hers better than an angels
Perfection is, in everyway, present
Like innocent in the eyes of a new born
I refer to her as thy lost
For I have found,
And felt what she will never
I do not possess her heart or her in ways I wish
But to see her happy,
Is enough to plug my gapping hole of loneliness
The best days are those that she confronts me
To buy a book, like she does offten,
Every book she buys, I read too
Informal, fictional, whatever her knowledge lies I want
In some small (extremely small) way it makes me feel like we have that connection
One day you come to me,
And asked me for advice
I tried to cover my face,
But you re-fused to let me
A book, you asked about
Lost, I got in your smile
Stare, I began too without realizing
And soon enough my scars I excepted
And one day, at your little coffee table,
You stared back too.
3-7-11