the mischievous hand creates art
where intentions are often confused,
inspiration's dread double edge sword
rouses haze between fiction and truth.
nonetheless my mind dances with you
in those infinite gaps we're apart,
desperate longing for time never spent,
conversations that never could start.
absorbing the warmest of words,
insignificant gestures immense,
slightest shift in the cast of a gaze
where you looked past a friend so intense.
does my presence intimidate you?
is my smile stirring endless distress?
you defensively weigh every move,
double thinking a harmless request.
perhaps you're intending to squelch
a suspicion you have about me,
or could it be that you perceive
a desire you fear to set free?
hence you sacrifice sweet serenades
that emerged from an era before,
like protecting a soft underside
from the ravenous teeth of a whore.