He Stares at Nothing in Particular

Musing, thinking, lost in wonder, he stares

At nothing in particular, but dares 

To let the dream which dances through his mind 

Come closer as the clock ticks, marking time.

Beside him sits a table robed in white,

Two knives, two forks, two plates are placed just right

And in their midst two candles stand unlit

As on he stares contented just to sit

A sweet aroma spills into the air

Escaping from a tasty love affair

And flutters on the whims of fantasy

Which set a soul meticulously free

To soar unbound by curiosity

Above the silence of an empty chair.

He does not stir, still lost in reverie,

But calms his nerves with effort mentally

He plans what he will say once she's arrived

With words pronounced that will not sound contrived.

"How do you do?" he thinks it best to start,

The host - he must control his pounding heart.

He takes her by the hand and leads the way,

"I hope you had the most exquisite day."

Each word, with the precision of a clock,

"Your beauty sends the poet into shock,"

Is practiced to perfection in his mind,

Still he forgets the staid hand, passing time.

As on his thoughts fly to a gorgeous scene

In which he sees her incandescent mien.

Her flawless skin that glistening defines

Each strand of hair that falls across her eyes

And trickles down her phosphorescent cheeks

To touch the lips that tongue cannot bespeak.

He contemplates, just then, what he should do,

How should he act, alone, with only two.

How should he touch her, if he should at all,

Or how to stand, why can he not recall?

Should he just smile and not say very much

To fill a silence words cannot quite touch,

But then how should he make it known to her

The feelings deep within that she doth stir...

Still musing, thinking, wondering, he stares

At nothing in particular, but dares 

To let this dream which dances through his mind 

Come closer as that clock which ticks, now chimes.

Copyright © 2008 by Layne Cockcroft

All Rights Reserved