Sonnet XI

One passing glance at you, and then I know
Our delicate affair is like a flower
That dies in too much sun. And yet, somehow,
I often let my burning passion show.

If only I could master that rare art
Of loving you in subtle ways that please,
By putting wayward passions in deep freeze!
I feel too much the ardor of my heart.

Now, when our many glances interplay,
I like the way you look into my eyes.
It’s nice to see you basking in them there.

And yet, the more we tease, the more I fear
That when I come too close, you back away.
You know exactly where my true heart lies.

 

© 2000 Alice Park

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