Glitter

He raises his brows in his quizzical way Without words, he asks a question, And without words, I answer He thinks before he speaks Lips twitching in hesitation Every word is fluid poetry And I, a hungry listener His motives are bona fide Sly poems kept from my eyes A symphony in each stanza And I, the unknowing subject He humors me with sweet words Complimenting me succinctly Fond and true I feel beautiful He’s enigmatic Walking with a slight swagger He who hums a quiet tune I find it hard not to stare His eyes grip mine Shielding thoughts I hope are of me What goes on behind them? Perhaps the less I know the better.