She smells so good,
some kind of strawberry memory.
All of my senses
fall for her snare,
exquisitely trapping me in her orbit.
She sits right across from me,
that alone speaks volumes
and from a distance
of only a few feet,
I might as well
be a far off satellite.
I analyze every flick of her hair,
every expression in her eyes
for meaning.
A hard, but supple puzzle.
A trick of stone,
yielding her secrets slowly,
reluctantly,
gracefully.
With each look
and the way she turns towards me,
a little laughter,
closing proximity;
my senses bathe in signals
I cannot decipher,
nor ignore.
The codex of her beauty;
beguiling and enticing,
leaves me pleasantly bewildered.
As I clumsily attempt
to navigate her harbor of intentions.
I am no deft captain;
more like a caveman,
trying to land the Mars Rover.
A conundrum of full lips
and hands that hold
a universe of soft touches.
I am content to orbit
and observe
and contemplate.
But the fate of all satellites
is derived by gravitational formulas,
so I am destined
to be pulled
inexorably towards her.
I will be extraordinarily fortunate
to survive entry
and not burn up
in her strawberry atmosphere.
HG -2016
