Ancient people once worshiped the sun.
In 2013, the sun worships you.
Its rays pirouette across your body.
You flick up a perfect leg and turn.
I wish I was grass.
You are do an almost excellent job
of looking everywhere but my way,
but I noticed that last glance.
You lingered a second longer,
daring me to approach?
So why are you so unapproachable?
Suddenly, the four feet between us
has turned into a river of lava.
My personal pet Chimera.
Real enough to root me to my spot.
Your tattoos tease like a 3D poster.
If I stare long enough,
perhaps their meanings would be revealed.
Or perhaps,
If instead of making
this miserable excuse for a miserable excuse
would ask you
Perhaps you would tell me.
Or perhaps
you would tell me
to leave you be in all your radiant glory.
But would I ever ask you?
Not likely.