A (Love) Poem

You whisper with your eyes

to me. Not poetry, but

something. Intentional

or accidental—does it matter?

No. (Yes.)

I promise, no more pleading.

I left the shower running

by mistake this morning. It's

not love-struck,

I tell my mother between

burnt soup mouthfuls,

but hope-struck

(eye-struck and

speechless).

You whisper with your eyes, my dear.

Perhaps

a touchless kiss

of eyes tonight

(two brown to blue)

beneath the flicker of

your broken porch light

But we're just friends, remember?

and you can ask me

why it took so long

and, silent, whisper 'love.'

(I'll answer.)

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I'm not sure about this poem. What do you think? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.