She Asked
Poetry
But, how can you love me?
‘Selfishly,’ he replied.
‘I sit on a fence and wait for you to pass by.
Just a hint of your laugh, a whiff of your petals,
a wink, a blush, though your curls often meddle.
I sit in awe and cherish each solitary bliss.
How a smile skims your cheek,
how violet perfumes your wrists.
I want to inhabit, to own the nectar of your voice.
I want to collect every thought that’s fraught with choice.
And, when I’ve gathered up every piece of you there is to behold,
I’ll only return your joy and sparkle,
until we’re grey and old.’
-EB
