INTRIGUE

i used to tread on smooth stones,
embracing the molasses charity,
knowing that my sincerity was invisible to everyone,
except to myself.


and                                          now                                           you.

i was not prepared for this,
nor for your crazed surface activity. 
it is not your fault, though.

i realise the value of your abstractions,
although they could not possibly be more explicit.

all that it needs
is for you to show me your greek orchids.

then maybe,
perhaps,
i will be able to sleep.