Awkward and
stumbling, like a
calf on new legs,
Nervous and dreading
each word from your lips
each word...
that drops like sweet fruit
from the vine
and I listen and
taste, never dreaming
they could be for me.
Thieving what I
can, stealing glances
and making them my own.

A shrine I've made
secretly, in my heart
and what you ignore
won't go away, but
grows even stronger
in the shadow of
your wonderful
countenance

                AcB        4*98