He say_She say

He, roaming my thoughts and tilling its plains with all his being I wait for him to pass, in hopes that his coat would drift across my hand His stride, so bold; so assuring, yet not the least self-conscious His scent, an un-nerving possibility of my deepest desires His eyes, the warmest conversation behind a black Iris-cage His smile, so nervous, so wanting, so childish, so pleasing An impossible greeting, is all that stands between us An acknowledging nod – our own intimate ritual We are secret lovers He and I So much so, he does not know it yet The salty tears of onlookers, exfoliate her skin to a paralyzing glow I wait for her to pass, in hopes a hair strand would drift my way Her stride, agile and well choreographed, yet not the least dainty Her scent, a Miyake* concoction of insomniatic detriment Her eyes, an ambient shade of hazel brown, So inviting, and so oblivious to its own depth Her dreadlocks, a protective turban That spontaneously wards off negative auras An impossible greeting, is all that stands between us A gently poised nod – our own intimate ritual We are secrete lovers Her and I So much so, she doesn’t know it yet * A reference to the Issey Miyake range of fragrances (totally awesome!)