A (Love) Poem

You whisper with your eyes

to me. Not poetry, but

something. Intentional

or accidental—does it matter?

No. (Yes.)

-

I promise, no more pleading.

-

I left the shower running

by mistake this morning. It’s

not love-struck,

I tell my mother between

burnt soup mouthfuls,

but hope-struck

(eye-struck and

speechless).

-

You whisper with your eyes, my dear.

-

Perhaps

a touchless kiss

of eyes tonight

(two brown to blue)

beneath the flicker of

your broken porch light

-

But we’re just friends, remember?

-

and you can ask me

why it took so long

and, silent, whisper ‘love.’

(I’ll answer.)

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I'm not sure about this poem. What do you think? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.