I Want To Come First With You

Every morning I walk pass through this ‘little’ lady

I make a mental picture of a heart shaped flower

Held in my hands; close to my heart; am willing to offer her

I make every eye contact count like every dance a street of my heart

I seem to have that dim; dreadful silly obscure look

Each time I see her from afar coming

Every time we work pass by; and I fail to be a man; to speak

I hear the music banging in my brain; then I conjecture good moments to come

When I will stop playing someone else’ part; a part alien to me

I think of holding her hands like we are standing on the mountain soil and saying

You’re my work set; I want to come first with you

In my soul and brains I feel a cabin fever for not being a man

She is like a lover my heart seeks; someone to make a promise to

In the wonderland where two lovers make vows knowing they are too closely knitted.