Perhaps, Perhaps.

Shall you count the endless strands
that cascade past my shoulders?
Shall I trace my fingers across
your pale forehead,
down the bridge of your nose,
and over your rosy lips?

Shall you envelop me
in an embrace which
comforts and affirms?
Shall I sit upon your lap
and hum you a tune
I've never heard?

Shall you laugh at all
my subtle habits,
with pale eyes that
seem to see more
than I want you to?
Shall I beg you to sing
just because I adore
your tenor voice?

Perhaps, perhaps.
There is always a chance.
But I'd rather have
friendship
than
lose
to
romance.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2013.