To Maplewood Station

I see him as I sit,

How cute.

His glasses, that combed forward hair,

As if the wind itself is behind him every step.

Just my size too, perfect.

Wonder how he feels about other guys?

What to say?

Will we meet again another day?

Will his sunrise pink lips ever grace my

Vision with their, full, slightly crusted beauty?

The beat goes on,

Billie Jean,

Wish he was my lover.

Why haven't I said anything?

The silent gazes that rebound off windows

And plastic and would surely pounce,

At a moments notice at my outward

Pick-up lines and menagerie eyebrows.

Maybe he's nervous too? Did he,

want to say something to me?

Maybe it's my eyes, or the downward curse Of my face screaming to the world,

I ain't that one to fuck with.

The bus goes on.

Damn.

Why didn't I say anything?

What a GLORIOUS future I had envisioned For the two of us,

He had a nice butt too.

I wonder if he even noticed me sitting there.

The guy in the black with the sharp,

Hard stare.

I'll probably never know, and he'll

Probably be just another daydream.