I read the card you gave me
with great admiration: for then,
your red hair burned with beauty,
and I was swept . . . off my feet,
befouled by the lack of words,
by having too many words.
I tried to use gestures to abbreviate the communication.

Your eyes seemed to sparkle, then,
as if you had nothing to hide,
as if you were unafraid to shine.

For you, I would speak to you
when otherwise I would draw in:
reflecting rather than objecting.
For you, I see your eyes sparkle,
and that is more than enough . . .
a look which says decidedly:
"The world, I'll take it, it is mine."

Is it your intellect?
Is it your beauty?
(well, yes,
     there is that)
Is it something,
     I cannot fathom?

I observe you, and I see it
shining from your eyes:
burning within me
excitement, admiration, and desire.

I read the card you gave me
with great admiration.