I will not give away that this is a love poem.
Run it through a search engine but you will not find
a lover's vocabulary in it. You'll be puzzled,
disappointed and confused: lovelorn.
The lines are deliberate to lead you on, to raise
the hope that it is here somewhere. But it is
like courtship where the thrill is in the chase.
The rule remains- haste makes waste.
Stare at it long. You might chance to catch a glance,
quick, elusive, intermittent. Be smitten with written
words promising bonding with page. Maybe if
the wonder remains, give me a second look.
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