Through Her Eyes Across The Office Aisles...

In that part of me where the autumn leaves kept falling,
I found today a songbird spreading its wings.
I dare not call it love...but...
It makes me not quite myself.
When I waft past you.
My pace follows the lead of my quickening heartbeat,
And in the mirror right after,
The honey-tan-earth hue of my cheeks,
Seems to have been kissed by a rosebush bleeding colour.
That isle of my peace,
Where my pen knows poetry, like philosophy knows hope...
That isle...lies across the aisle.
All too often, I let memories of the past stonewall my heart's freedom.
Freezing the quiet dance and soulful rush that the heart fans.
Never before has it left me blue,
That the whole world came between a friend and me.
My eyes fleet and find you, afraid to linger,
You among friends, me among mine.
As I watch you in a conversation that I don't hear.
Those five fleeing seconds that you let it show, your subdued sensitivity,
Before the cool composure sets in again like powdered wet sandalwood.
Your words, be it the written word, or the verbal,
In the depth that is your cathartic voice; almost herbal.
I dare not call it love,
Much is unknown between us, screams my rationality.
And I have tutored myself far too long, not to trust intuition.
But in those fleeting moments we have, with eyes around us indifferent and prying,
I find myself saying things to you that...
Others had to cross the Ninth Circle of the Inferno to be let in on,
Every shade I have, girlish or womanly, churlish or an anomaly,
Your dreams and hopes and dark nights, mellow mornings and mourning.
My warm mustard, and reds and roses,
Would they blossom under the shade of your cool greens and blues!
Could we share a cloud of incense,
In all its sensuality and innocence,
And see where it goes.