Hand outstretched
Shy grin
Then blush reveals
More
More than she wishes
He reddens too
But not more than she dreams
No mistress of the game of love
No expert with honeyed phrase
She
Is straight lines
Her gaze true
His, perhaps, opaque
A dark pool
Reflection refracted, blurred.
In that moment after
Hasty words
A shrug
Resignation, frustration, questions.
All the daring hers?
Not to be
Like fruit spilling out of farmer's cart
Luscious, ripe, unique.
She knows.
More
More than he will say
Less than she dreams
No one her master
Someday she will be thankful
For this
A weave that races like quicksilver
Across tapestry of her days.
Once a woman pined for someone long gone.
Not her.
That girl no longer
She does not wait.
