In the glow of your charismatic grace, I feel prosaic
Lackluster and ordinary
Not so special
You smile at me
Around these other women, I feel homely
Unpretty and plain
Not so lovely
You see me behind them
Damned by my own doubt
Encouraged by your furtive, shy glances
Will I will my lips to move beyond a stoic purse and speak the poetry I’ve already written for you in my heart?
Will I take your hand, lead you to my bed, so that I might know you and you me?
Will I lead you to my glistening depths, let you fill me, so we both know ecstasy?
Or will we let these maybe moments linger on the air between us while we drown in monotony, pretending we don’t see each other?
Meet me in the middle