If we could
touch
just once
a little butterfly, a brief
brushing
I swear we could make roses
bloom.
The kind you like, the kind
that are yellow and wilt pollen-ugly
the kind with thorns.
I can imagine what you would look like
after being kissed, your burning hair
halo-soft around your face, your lips
half parted, flaming, full.
And then maybe,
Just maybe you would stop
mooning over your books, mouth a crescent
smile-
But.
Your eyes are so deep, so distant,
I cannot see the bottom, so I know
you are thinking about the one I hate, you know
I hate him, so you stay little Mouse-Silent,
little Dream-Silent.
You forget I can read your soul.
But if, just if
I swear the rose will be
Eternal.