WALLFLOWER 

It is something about the air,

Or this rugged wooden chair

That lends one concessions

Of coffee shop confessions.

The girl’s statue, so serene,

That sits here in between,

Fills this empty room,

Once full of empty gloom.

Her dark coffee cuddles 

And her up-done hair huddles

Around her criss-crossed poise

Deafened by her music’s noise.

My stares jump out in rage,

Caught against this flat glass cage

As I scream out whispered woe’s

Dismissed as secondhand no’s. 

The words of her book smile, and

As my heart pounds I rile 

When her shadow claims the seat

And I am left in sad defeat. 

In haste was her walking,

In hiding was my gawking

As the unnoticed went on away

With my heart-felt, heart-lost dismay.

Should I have rolled up my sleeve

To at least create some reprieve

Of the fateful but frantic

Cry called romantic?