The Mystery

Some mysteries are better left unsolved

You are a mystery that I can not solve.
Pieces of you dance in a myriad of form
Only to vanish upon inspection.
I fear you have me at quite the disadvantage,
For you know my secret joys,
Those moments that take my breath away
But I do not know yours.
You do not give anything away
Safely cloaked.
I shall not take by force with coquettish coercion
For such things are gifts.
Something taken is not a gift
And we are beyond subterfuge.
I shall spend my days lovingly pondering
This mystery that is you.