You probably never knew that I fell for you,
or that you cost me that A in geometry,
or that a touch from your unconscious hand
could melt all the snow outside.
Before my path went near,
and yours
far.
Before I knew your secret.
This is the love serenade,
caught in the throat.
This is the bouquet
left standing behind the counter.
This is the last petal:
the one that says:
He loves me not.
