When the bus turns the bend and on to the bridge its only you I see, smiling, yet from a distance. Alone, you gaze; a silent yet melancholy smile, to those who care to notice.

Among the crowd you stand solitary, a presence hardly felt and poise far from unmistakable. You love to pale, in to the clouds, for unlike them you don’t wear the accolades and stories of kiss and tell, for you are the quintessential difficult virgin if ever there is one.

Still, how I long to see you in the morning; that slight, yet, shy smile through the mist and the haze. Is it only to me that words don’t come to mind when the sun starts kissing and caressing your face? I wonder. Always did.

You are just you, private, yes, but mysterious never. How could one say those words to you with that seemingly inviting gaze which forever appears to treat those who care to notice you, the lucky few?

For the one who dares to reach for you, a challenge you may be, but daunting you aren’t, possibly. There are no crevasses or darker abysses along the path to your heart. You hold a few secrets in that throbbing life within you, a true sentinel of silence.
You don’t belong to others’ conversation, nary a gossip about you. Amazing the way you melt in to the surrounding, hurting none and noticed by none. You don’t belong in the campaigns of conquest of raging testosterone, for you are the quintessential neighbor’s daughter, the epitome of homily girl.

Thus, you still smile unspoilt and untouched, a feminine soul yet to be jaded by a lover’s meandering and maneuvering.

In the rankings of the exotic, you don’t line up along with the Divas and the queens, escaping the mission of a player’s sweat and muscle and beyond the sight from the birds of prey.

The beauties who cavort near you have paths up the body and soul, the signs of being traversed and taken. Yet, to the soft tender self of yours’, a man needs an effort to find a way, for no beaten path exists, and no sign posts to look for.

How come?  I wondered and still do. Won’t the charm, calm and composure have a price? Where’s the forlorn and the foreboding in you which puts back the adventurer? How come? I could never find.

Yet, the gentle slopes of your soul and the soft embrace of your warmth. For never have I felt the hug as tight as yours and the feeling still tugs the heart. Still, how come others don’t notice and only I go for you in love?

Thunder and lightning hardly seem to touch your countenance and the howling winds don’t tear up your welcoming inclines and those enchanting valleys of desire.

You hold no terrors to your soul. The thick overhanging canopy and the foliage bode no doom for it just shelters the tired soul that comes to rest underneath. Men drive up the beauties to conquer and conquest, to claim and plant the flag. But they haven’t been to you. Why so? I wonder.

Marauders have no place in your heart. A determined seducer might. With your direction and approach, to get close to your mind.

It’s as if you cherish the soul than the muscle, you prefer a trek, a silent walk in to your heart. It seems you have room in your heart for a solitary walker or for a traveler in search of a refuge from chaos.

In the long yet slow, but ever tightening embrace you hold a climber as he gently loves your every voluptuous curve and erotic valley. Desires abound as he seduces you and you do the same in return seemingly genuine to pleasure of honest company.

The sweet scent of yours, moist and humid, in the lush foliage hugging the path would only instill the drive in mind to reach for the goal, to walk to a vista unparalleled, a panorama beyond compare rarely visited.

No conquering ecstasy. Just humbled by your love.
You hold a secret of mine, up in your bosom, tucked away, secure from the wind and rain. A simple letter of love for someone just like you, exactly, well almost. Concealed in a tiny plastic bottle beneath a boulder it stays. We wowed to return some day to recover and relish a love meant forever. But let it be. Maybe it was meant to be…

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