Windy Boys With Wicked Eyes

She never kissed me; no, not quite.
Yet I spied her,
Several times — 
In the aura of my eye:
Fleeting.
Flashing.
Passing.

Every time
I took a step,
She took two — 
Or three.
The closer that
I got to her — 
The further she,
From me.

Why does darkness
Chase the light
Around the world each day?
& why does sadness
Hide in back,
When beauty has her say?

Broken-hearted,
Never happy,
Weeping jesters prance:
We windy boys,
With wicked eyes,
Chase ‘Big girls’
At the dance.

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