“To Christa, With Love”
Dare I say, Christa, you’ve ignored me long enough
More worthy am I than a casual acknowledgement,
The occasional reply with the unwritten sigh
Have left unrequited the mind signals I’ve sent
I sense your awareness, your fingers on the keys
What, is there another in the middle of our space?
This subtle failure to communicate, woman, please
What are the chances of a romantic interface . . .
Behind closed or open doors, this Valentine is yours
I’m a lone boat passenger seeking February dock,
I see you standing aloft the wharf with your hair down
Apparitions of my rivals, to you do they flock
The most modest of them all I stand within view
That first love letter you happened upon long ago,
It took you a moment to revisit the author’s face
Wondering in silence, Did Lisa really know?
She didn’t; Others couldn’t; I toiled obscurely
The odd man out—holding life’s everything within,
To share with a select few, though namely with you
No insta-, rather, an old-fashioned gram I send
In the shadows I typed, nary a phrase was hyped
That flower in your hair—it sparked many a verse,
Has your mind ever migrated while behind the wheel?
Tell me, which in the series was your emotion most immersed
Re-appeared have you; disappeared have I
Perhaps you’ve pegged me Ellison’s invisible man,
A Valentine unseen but a Valentine most felt
My presence looms steady over this years-long span
I wanna feel the touch of you, of a woman such as you
In no way is this a proposition inappropriate,
A vicarious touch is simply lacking so much
Given the opportunity, woman, I’ll make the cut
Share a grace dance with me, a little romance with thee
Something within me shan’t let chivalry die,
Memories are all we have to our second to last breath
The self-addressed envelope will arrive for your reply
Anywhere in the world; on my publisher’s card
The honor of your presence would be truly divine,
My only request: A flower once more in your hair
I’d consider it a privilege to be your chosen Valentine
Check one and return to sender:
□ I’m sorry, Roy
□ Hmm, I’m thinking about it, Roy
□ How beautiful, but I . . . I just don’t know, Roy
□ I’m yours, Roy, what time do we leave?
________________
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Romance lives. -Rg2
© 2016 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®