Not very frequently…
I see a girl looking at me.
Not noticing me,
Astutely studying me.
Her eyes:
feeling up my chest
running through my hair
wrapping around my waist.
When they return to my eyes
They blink with a blush.
There might be…
A girl thinking of me.
Restful reverie before slumber,
Final fantasy on her pillow.
Regretting:
the minutes we didn’t spend together
dogmas never discussed
my absence from her bed.
She drifts to sleep with
Her arms around my vision.
It’s not entirely impossible that…
I’m on a piece of paper somewhere.
Object of an ode,
Subject of a song.
Chanting:
of my beauty
of my essence
of my essentialality.
Much like the Muses
I have loved, unanswered.