Poetry: Untitled

I beg your pardon for my intrusions,

But i am unable to resist.

It is no more than a mask of emotions,

A collection of which that will not desist.

You are my friend and quite dear,

Particularly for your humor, as dry as a desert.

A simple thing to laugh till i tear,

When you quip off remarks without reserve.

Please do not be put off by my attention,

There are a select few that I concern myself over.

To most i am a bastard without reservation,

Although some i cannot help to worry over.

I am troubled to write such words,

As they may betray a design I did not seek.

To declare a love yearned for would be too cheek,

As the personal loss would pale before an action so awkward.

To make a proposition of tender feelings,

Which i confess to own,

Would invite a response i would bemoan,

A rejection of my love and friendship would leave me reeling.

I love you dearly for the woman you are,

Yet i cannot confess my inclination.

Admitting to the truth would be an invitation

To lose the camaraderie that provides such rich fare.

Far better my current approach,

Being a tongue-tied friend,

Knowing that your interests typically tend

Toward men of finer looks and without reproach.