To the Girl Who Saw Constantine Alone on Sunday
Lately I care not for people I know,
The people I see maybe every day.
I've been through them all and there's nothing to show
There's anyone left if I'm searching this way.
Long I have known them, been through the names
I might copy, encoded, or scream to the sky,
That there's no mystery left, I've played all the games
That I'm bored of them all, and of others I'm shy.
For now I project onto those I know not
(The boy in the bookstore who's far away now),
I'd rather imagine than suffer my lot,
Any stranger will do, but know not I how
To strike conversation from little excuse,
A skill I might envy or with that they had;
But I got not for ones who would use such a ruse -
Any chance is not taken, the lost just too bad.
Rather than talking, I've crushes in looks
So that's my excuse for a small hidden smile.
But I'll wish I'd said more for a rather long while
For I know I saw yours in the mirror.