to an old flame that blew out

eyes are the windows to the soul - i wonder if she can read me so freely
sensing the nervousness, the tension, the attraction between her and me
sometimes i look away, not because im uninterested
its a safety precaution - dont want to give away to much off rip
she doesnt need to know that im already lookin at her lips
picturing them against mine - whispering for me to never leave
other times i make sure our eyes lock - time moves slower then, listen for the tick
she smiles, then i smile - listen to the tock
snapped back into reality - there goes the looking away again
if she wants me to be that one that shes never had i can
getting to far ahead of myself - im cursing myself on the inside
finding my eyes stuck between a moment of squinting before they open back wide
i need her to learn the language of my glances - the long ones are the best
thas when im picturing what it be like to hear you ask me to undress - you first, then myself
not for a night lust - but a night of bliss simple eye contact turns into an exchanging of fantasies with each kiss
i look at her - reread her text messages, scroll through pictures, any sight is a great view
eyes are the windows to the soul - look at them
they are trying to tell you that this story is about you . . .

- 3/1/10