It was at a Bakery, a French one by claim,
Where I saw Her.
Standing there I didn’t even know her name
and yet my bravado went hill-ward bound, and shyness was there left to claim the
Rudder of my thoughts, and it plotted a lonely course.
My eyes, too, tried to sneak at her face, like paparazzi flashing
From their hidden place yet all that came out was “Good morning!” with a
smile not meant for the cashier
but for that one girl I hold so dear,
The one I’m blocked by fear,
The one with the blonde-streaked hair pulled back in a messy bun
That sets my heart on fire, her make-up kindling the flame though
I know she’s still beautiful beneath it-
And I couldn’t even ask her name.