his shoulders tall, his stride is quick
a twinge of a smile, hair so thick
dark as his eyes, but light are his feet
as he glances around to claim his seat
demands in his words, soft is his voice
considers his speech with a considerate poise

his eyes reach mine, I can feel my heart
to pretend he’s not near must be an art
of which I have mastered? I highly doubt
surely they see what I’m thinking about

and just when I know that I am just thinking
he touches me so that I feel I’m sinking
deeply he looks, grasping at chances
slowly I fall grasping at branches

how wrong it must be to think such a thought
how awful I am to be so distraught
and caught up in a man so wrongfully mine
or is it simply a matter of time?