A Thrill of My Own
Oh, the vicarious thrill of watching it unfold.
Something I could never do, I never had the courage.
Yet, there she stood, alone, a raven haired beauty
Silken strands of delicacy, caressing her shoulders
Something to exult, to worship, at least from afar.
And then he came in, as dashing as one would expect.
The chasm between dapper and dashing and
modest and mousy, too much to bridge.
No night club was dark enough to compensate
and so I just watched.
I watched him approach her, the impetus to do so
as natural for him as combing his wavy blond curls.
His dress and his manner clamored of opulence.
And yet, she seemed to resist.
Had she tasted this brand before.
Had she already been just another bauble
or conquest, meant only to adorn.
Embarrassed that she caught my gaze,
I turned, just as she smiled
Could it be that that such grace and beauty
could have an eye for me.
It was not mockery I saw in her grin.
Perhaps courage will find me yet
and lessons learned will ensure a thrill of my own.
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