Window Bike

It starts the same way, as she holds me in her resounding stare.
As I see her surface she’s perfect from the freckle on her hand to her autumn hair.
I want to see underneath, her inner beauty, I know it’s there.
The history of the scar on her left wrist.
Even the reason as to why she leaves her feelings bare.
Each time I see this woman her smile is a link to my heart.
It’s like the bike in the shop window as a child of nine years old.
You gaze and love it, you want it, even need it, thinking of the things you’d do if you got it.
But eventually you have to leave it and then imagine the day you can call it yours.