The Bus Stop
An angelic visage, a regal pose,
A strand of hair across her nose.
A gladiolus, a tulip, perchance a rose,
An ethereal beauty from her slumber arose.
He gazed into her eyes, limpid chasms of eloquence and eternity halting only at erudite display of flashing brilliance and frivolity and spoke
And so it goes darling
My hands are tingling
I can't hide this feeling
Or stop a mind thats reeling
If I could behold you
For an instant more
It would mean forever
Its lips that quiver
When words waste, what eyes see, and hands discover
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