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I think I am learning your face, your eyes,
Studying your concentration on a 2x3 screen.
I toy with the idea of offering,
Aware of the irony,
That this is not a game.

I loathe the distance,
And count the days, month to month,
Encounter to encounter.
I'm besotted, addicted, transfixed.

I'll settle for compassion of violence
Caring or hurt,
Anything to know I matter to you.
That somehow, sporadically,
I sneak round the edges of your consciousness.
That you'd notice me,
Could smile for me,
Derive pleasure from me,
However, whatever, it takes.
©2009 ~AvenueA
:iconavenuea:

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Poem from last year.

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April 11
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