Written March 23, 2008
I couldn’t take my eyes of her
She had me in some kind of trance
I know she felt the heat transfer
We shared a little eye romance
She stared me down with those eyes
And they were bluer than the clearest skies
But it was too late to pop the question
She had already been spoken for
She cried out her harsh confession
And with those words I hit the floor
Her smile could lift the sunset
But her words brought down all hope
I haven’t had the courage to climb yet
But I’m looking to grab a rope
She’s always in the back of my mind
Now when I look at her, I wish I was blind
Why’s it always too late to pop the question?
Why are the good ones spoken for?
She became my loving obsession
But I’ve felt this feeling before
Photography by Brianna Santellan, from Unsplash
T.L. Kirk 