Like a pressure cooker holding the steam in hush,
His chest holds the heart wanting to gush;
He knows his feelings are too hard to slush,
How this folly makes him blush!
New songs on the list; Love around, he feels new air,
Suiting up to meet a kind rare,
Reminding himself whole time to emotionally not go bare,
On the way in car, he looks at himself in the rear.
Nervously stroking his stubble that she loves, he thinks,
Will keep it for her forever if she likes it this way,
He asks himself, ‘I’ve never made myself up for any girl,
Will I even make her feel the swirl?’
Waiting for her on the table,
She’s 40 minutes late, horrible!
And all the composure he was been practicing on,
In a flick of her glance, he forgot holding on.
Stunned by her beauty, getting up to greet her,
Not sure how he should greet her,
In the trying of not to show the desperateness,
Decides for a handshake, yet confusingly ends up in an embrace.
He loved her hair, the richness in her smell,
She looks up and a hundred things her eyes could tell,
It is the best feeling he felt, the best sight, man, her eyes…
He lets himself fall for her; and he fell so hard!
She carried his speechlessness with grace and subtlety,
She knew what she was getting in, could be a trouble.
But his arms were too beholding to let go of, like sun to a sunflower,
Inviting shrines on him, she looks in his eyes full of grandeur , says, ‘I love your stubble.‘