I think about you...

I think about you
Subconsciously, trying to feel
the way you'd react, your view,
that might be astringent or genteel
towards external stumili,
take for example, I
who is so tacit otherwise,
trying to vicariously surmise,
About your opinions.
Say, about leaders and their minions.

I want to talk,
nothing very cliched dreamy,
like those scenic beaches, the long walks,
finding if I make you inetersted or queasy.
Its unbearable for me to consider if
its a pain for you to get in touch,
that if it wasn't work, you wouldn't be bored stiff,
this thought terrifies me inasmuch.
The winds carry a flavor for me,
and I taste thinking if you'd like it sour or sweet.

As I survey your facial terrain,
I dont effuse my thoughts,
nor does your aura sustain,
my gaze, which chooses to be dissolved,
in a judgemental fluid of callousness.
Your utterances, both voluble and few,
are steel sharpnel to my metal harness,
that yokes the philanthropic fabric I sew.
But yet I want to be around you
to take in yourself, like the ephemeral pleasure I drew.

I am not requesting,
to have a heart for this lovelorn
being, all I have is a longing,
for knowing someone here, yet gone.
Those moments of silence over the phone,
You are perhaps bored, but I breathlessly groan.
Wishing that the call would be longer,
but more or less my mind wanders.
Whether what yet, I mean to you,
As I think about you...

All characters towards any indication of the above verses might direct, is purely co-incidental.
Yet, if you are there, you know who you are, nothing indirect or sentimental.