Maybe some day next week
I'll run into you as I walk
Along Corporation Street, or
You'll sit next to me on a bus,
And I'll be too terrified to
Tell you you're beautiful.

But if I do manage to say it,
Like I did to that girl
Who works behind the bar at the Varsity,
I will somehow know that I am
Not just talking about how you look.

Something in your silence
Spoke to me of the you
That I will never know.

Even if I can tell you
This most basic of facts,
I doubt I will tell you
All the cheesy details surrounding it,
Or that fact that this poem
Exists at all.
After all, someone translating
Your beauty inadequately into words
Can hardly be unusual.

Perhaps I should now become
A concerned random person
That doesn't know you,
And say that, if anyone
Judges you on looks alone,
They are stopping at the museum
And denying themselves the true art
Contained within.

At least if you ever read this
And know it's about you,
You'll know there's someone
Who looks at you with his heart
And not just with his eyes.

09/28/2002

Posted on 10/25/2002
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince