A man so stylish my eyes did greet,
Never before had I wanted to see,
Reaction to my words how would he be.
The smile so natural perhaps he’s pleased,
Must remain hidden so the moment is seized,
To give such pleasure a selfless act,
The intention is such not fiction just fact.
The beauty of art expands far beyond,
Moves with grace white swan in a pond,
The power of words entices the soul,
For life is most beautiful when it is whole.
The poem is given my work is done,
Never to see him contact is none,
Yet fate will lead him to me once more,
It’s a mystery with so much delirium in store.
He appears from nowhere on stage am I,
The timing impeccable I thought I would die,
Not knowing how he truly did feel,
My heart beat increasing where is my shield?
That brief encounter my question unanswered,
He later requests no more emails I’ve tampered,
It seems there will be no contact no more,
As long as my poetry he did once adore.
Three years have passed a message he sends,
What calls he now what flavour he blends,
The mystery unfolds the illusion now clear,
Touched by my words no longer I fear.
To meet or not the question remains,
Elusive and brave beguiling it wanes,
The delirium seduces the erotic it stays,
The silence of touch forever the days.
The Brighton To London Poet
© 2009 MCARB
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