For an audience of one
Is it wrong that I want you
to read all of my words?
To regard you in patient silence
as your eyes graze what I wrote,
searching for the slightest reaction.
It’s like a song by Stevie Wonder
when your face forms
the perfect expression.
And I sigh, knowing the effect won’t last.
Eventually, you’ll move on,
and turn another page.
A sickness settles in the pit of my stomach
while waiting
patiently
for your reply.
I ask a stupid question,
Something like, “So, umm
what did you think?”
You bite your bottom lip,
deep in rumination,
a constellation of shimmering thoughts
that chart a course into your mind.
A fear trembles in my darkest recesses,
where worries and desires reside,
unsure if you’ve seen the messages
hidden between the lines.
It seems absurd to hope
these words might somehow be
a key that could unlock the door
to your heart.
