Broadway & Madison

My knuckles are white hot and my
ear lobes crimson, boiling with
the nervousness of emotional exposure.

Tic-tic-tic: the turn-signal puts meter to
my impending relational kamikaze dive,
jumping headlong into the death of ego.

Spared! if only breifly by sharing an
awkward churckle with the object
of this admiration.

Quick is the fall, but soft the landing
when compassion steps in to tell you
that nothing more need be said.

Now float we on in understanding shared
by friendly innocence;
though nothing's said, now nothing's missing.