Extolling the better part of brilliance,
Silently lauding the workings of a heart,
Imparting all the passion it could muster
In quick smiles and stolen strokes in dark corners alight in the passion they quickly quenched when someone came into the line of sight.
Not content with the content, nor the context,
Not just the object, but affinity,
That plagued like plaque infinitely,
Gushing adorations whose reciprocations went cold
When lost in the roles they couldn’t play anymore,
The secret stealing their perceived perfections with the inflections of a hand that folds.
What’s a love that needs to hide?
It’s a thief that lingers through the night,
Staying for conflictions over whether what the bandit does is right;
Frightful of being found, but caught in the direness of the day,
Running hands on the merchandise as thoughts run laps through his mind,
How his actions might affect her fate if he quit being kind and robbed the other blind.
Not noble, but not wicked neither,
Not novice but unsure of the ground just beneath her,
Not extravagant, but more than simple settings on the splendid table,
But in the end, they were unable to keep the legs stable so it collapsed as they sat to dine,
And she lost hers as I lost mine.