Here I am,

There,

Propped on that Chair,

Staring at that girl

with that Hair

Behind the electric swirl

Of that screen,

holding her from my true sight

That flair

That goes off as two electrodes corrode and accidently explode

When the notion in the brain synapse is impossible to ignore.

She's there, she just doesn't see it.

Behind that screen,

Her eyes beam.

Through that electronic scream

of blue background and pale blue glow.

Don't worry,

I know.

I won't make things weird.

Even though I'm a standoffish hobbit.

Even though I chew my nails and spin my pens

And sometimes mostofthetimes I'm on a frequency

Far too high or far too low

And most of the times, peoples true reactions I don't know.

My brain won't explode

At the first sight of them,

I ignore them.

Because they aren't you.

Veiled but beneath true

Expressive complex and taking breath

I think of you,

Delicately, like something will crumble when touched,

Not that your weak, not that in the least.

Delicate like that me being near to you is such a weak bond,

For sometimes I don't see what people think.

A bond weaker than I feel I feel is felt toward me by you...

So therefore the though of you made by me is a delicately

posed idea, a precarious arranged object,

and I'm just watching this russian tea cups teetering over the dressers edge...

Waiting for it to shatter,

It's so inevitable that I don't hold my breath,

Because it's already been taken away

By the idea of me, you

Together, I'm fragile, and the agility of your dynamism in face of my

Dymaxion struggle.

I rattle of Buckminster Fuller quotes

and storyboards for post-apocolyptic graphic novels...

And you listen and put up with this...

You're cryptic,

Delicate,

Intricate,

And still you're there

That Girl

With That Hair

That makes my mind explode

And my breath to be stolen

And my pen to scratch page

To punch keyboard.

I will still be quietly hoping.