Windy Boys With Wicked Eyes

She never kissed me; no, not quite.

Yet I spied her,

Several times—

In the aura of my eye:

Fleeting.

Flashing.

Passing.

Every time

I took a step,

She took two—

Or three.

The closer that

I got to her—

The further she,

From me.

Why does darkness

Chase the light

Around the world each day?

& why does sadness

Hide in back,

When beauty has her say?

Broken-hearted,

Never happy,

Weeping jesters prance:

We windy boys,

With wicked eyes,

Chase ‘Big girls’

At the dance.