Is the silent type
A nose in a book, pen in hand
In a world far from me
Both puzzling and enticing
Hands vie to figure him whole
Only specklings show
His prose, his verse, his lone heart
I read and repeat
Wondering how could this man
Be no one’s love when he’s perfect
Perfect in every way to me
©2011 KUDiYAH CA’LYSSe. All Rights Reserved
