If I grasp my hands together,
It’s interesting how easy you assume,
That you’ve caught my interest.
Or even, my respect.
If I tilt my chin up,
And widen my eyes,
Stretch the muscles hidden at the corner of my lips,
My intent remains bitten
Off at the head.
I truly love you, God I don’t why but I do,
Yes, stranger, you,
It’s you I love, with your odd quirks and mannerisms,
‘You-isms,’ some might say.
I’m a silent lover,
Falling deeper against the way your hands hold a pen,
Or how your hair looks, as it catches the bouncing November light.
I’m in love with your strangeness, next to my own known me.
Don’t assume that because I am known to me, that my love for your otherness eclipses the deep fascination
I hold for life.
And therefore, its firsthand observer, a perspective that not many get…my own fallible, imperfect,
I know it hurts to hear it, and I’m sorry that in this tale, you’re the firework so beautiful but who only leaves a trail of smoke,
Unlike the sweet effervescent light, of my own experience of life,
God, I don’t know why I love strangers,
When they are fireworks in the night.