How I look forward to our paths crossing,
Almost as casually as intersecting railway lines
Where two trains meet to snort and whoop at each other.

Yet how my lame and shallow chat
Belies the depth of my stirring passion,
For this infatuation sees right through lust, I fancy.

I seem to see your blithesome virtue,
Delusion or not, I care not which,
Blotting out the grey meanness whenever we meet.

I find myself ascribing you glamour
Which, though you crave, never will you have,
Nor yet would I wish it, if my thoughts were clear.

Your openness makes me ill at ease,
As though I do not trust my motives,
Your crystal voice cutting like ice through my poise.

Are you really so delicate an ornament?
Would my open heart really shock you so much?
My ardour and frustration are tearing at their bars.

Your beauty grows in my beholding eye,
	Soon all thoughts of your boyfriend far away
Will be swept aside in torrents of feeling
	I neither can nor want to allay.