Every time I read your expressions
I am left with loving impressions—
Curve of nose against the eyes,
Playful smiles that disguise
The thoughtful intellect
That you expose unchecked,
Making many swoon
And leaving hearts strewn
Across the way—
Like, to me, you did that day.
But, alas! You belong between the lines
Of these books with ragged spines;
I must remember that your charm
Is nothing more than fictional smarm,
Yet your words enthrall
Though they are not meant for me at all—
A constant struggle
To be able to juggle
Living my life in this world
While leaving a map of yours furled.
Then I am left to wonder
Would it really be a blunder
To wish you into my life,
Would days be filled with fun or strife?
Perhaps our love could last
And forever we stand steadfast,
But then again, we might agree
That we are just not meant to be
So, safest to say you should remain
Nothing more than an inkling gone vain.