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,




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

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