Bus Rider

Longing for someone who doesn't know that you exist can be a challenge.

She stands on the curb,
eyes fixed in the distance,
like she has a running start
on everything,
as if the world owes her nothing
but deems her worthy
for everyhing.
Her eyes are shining coal.
Her head is smooth, covered by a knitted cap.
A stud decorates her labret and eyebrow.

We almst just miss each other.
When she passes me, we pause.
Neither of us speak.
Like a glytch in time.
She snaps back into her world
and I into mine.
Daily apparitions.

I fan my flame of passion.
I stick out my chest.
I suck in a breath.
I will myself to speak,
the key to enteer her world.
Convince myself of paradise.

Paradise lost.
When I see her
and my heart quickes
and my breathing stops
and my palms sweat
I only hang my head
as the words catch in my throat
and my lips are stitched togeter
and I hope my eyes say enough
to spark in her mind
possibility.