For Him, Most Every Day

Sometimes I find myself looking at the rim of your glasses.
My eyes will be pulled in,
trying not to stare,
finding myself gazing at your eyes.
Those crystalline eyes.
Your nonchalant demeanor.
Your face,
slightly unshaven,
smiling at little jokes.
Would you want to know,
if I dared to tell you,
what was on my mind?
Would it matter that I wanted nothing,
just my arms wrapped around you?
But I’m relegated to
nods,
small talk,
and the memory of you walking in,
and out,
of my doors.