What grace has given me
I willingly take
And drag spindly fall fingers
Through the dusty, browning leaves,
Brush them away from the glass orb
Containing your heart, a fragile organ
Suspended like a hanging crystal
In a rose-pink sphere.

With relish I spell your name
Four syllables rolling from my lips
Or three, depending on
How lovingly I say it

But of course, you realize
That I am far to antisocial
For such intimate contact; I
The raspberry eyes on your back
The hand whispering across your shoulder.

Again, dedicated to
Brief infatuation, you
And all your loveliness