The leather skins of the ebony couch I envy
And the tint on the coffee mug where her face
Reflects the million eyes that stared at her today alone
are the only things in my life I think I won't ever throw into the gutters
where I used to dump my coins in for street casino.

Her music was playing on the early radio with happy intonations
And the dawn was supposed to make me sad,
but this morning I was with her and she was holding my arm
and she told me she was already tired from walking along the dusty pathways of the river park
where all we talked about was her new paintings in the town gallery
and her new computer
So she asked me about my poetry and I told her it was the same old stuff.
It remained about her, you see.

She laughed and asked me to dictate one of them into her ear
so that she would know if I got the description of her hair right this time,
And I assured her that I wrote about the red strands even though they appeared brown
and that I penned with utmost care the lovely shoes she wore the last time we went for a movie
and that this time, I remembered the shade of paint on the wordless benches
in front of the bay view where the pedestrians without names called out to her,
begging for her number.

But I never told her that in my words were subtle messages
Saying that since the beginning of time
I adored her and her large eyes.

I was scared of the embarassment I would get
If I finally belted out the lethal "I love you."
and she would think it was some sort of joke
to be followed by my very own laugh track.

So I just finished with another one of my witty remarks,
Sly and unoriginal, and told her I placed second in a writing competition
Where passion for her was the contest theme,
but she just pointed to the cloud candy stall and asked me to buy her one
and I would've said I would rather give myself to her,
but I knew she'd still pick the pink sweets over me

So I just smiled and threw a coin into the gutter
and threw one into the candy machine hoping it would fuck up
so that I could at least erase one of the infinite things that she would most probably pick before me to love her back.

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