The Romance of Being Seen

flutter.
It was your heart.
The tickle you felt in your chest as you walked past the other,
eyes met yours and acknowledged you and where you’ve been.

stutter,
stammer and start,
believing in an instant that there is some deeper beauty,
a mystery to be solved within this particular being.

mutter,
not so very smart,
having already fumbled the words to communicate,
even a fraction of the confusing pleasantness you’ve become.

reduced to infantile cravings,
savoring a file cabinet of endings,
instantly conjured in your mind.

Who are you,
what do you want,
when and where and why am I involved.

How do I get involved.