Glitter
He raises his brows in his quizzical way
Without words, he asks a question,
And without words, I answer
He thinks before he speaks
Lips twitching in hesitation
Every word is fluid poetry
And I, a hungry listener
His motives are bona fide
Sly poems kept from my eyes
A symphony in each stanza
And I, the unknowing subject
He humors me with sweet words
Complimenting me succinctly
Fond and true
I feel beautiful
He’s enigmatic
Walking with a slight swagger
He who hums a quiet tune
I find it hard not to stare
His eyes grip mine
Shielding thoughts I hope are of me
What goes on behind them?
Perhaps the less I know the better.
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