Your Picture In The Frame

Your face calls out to me singing but not a siren's song
To this old sailor, for I've learned how to steer my ship away
From danger. Yet, the look in your sparkling, steely blue eyes,
Your lips slightly open, a little hint of a smile and your tongue,
Your silky dark hair cascading over shoulders down to breasts;
All combine to make my fingers tremble and my body quiver
And my heart race faster than the moon. The electric feelings
Snap and crackle deep inside, for you are impossible to me,
To touch, to meet, to be with tonight, when my eyes look up
At the stars and beg for answers and my heart breaks once
More. How I long to touch your cheek, to kiss those lips,
To feel the cool silk of your hair on my hungry fingers.
How I have wondered long and hard about just what was on
Your mind when the camera clicked, what wonderful thought
Curved your eyebrows so, and made you tilt your head enough
To bring me to my knees? Why have you awakened in me
This sense of longing? Is it just that every ten years or so
A woman does so and leaves me shattered in her wake?
There was the Mexican firecracker, the Polish rose, the Baltic
Blonde, who each found a way to drive me out into the night,
Howling like a dog. And what is it about me that I should
Crumble so over just a photo, a phantom, a fleeting image?
Is it that you toy with me, play with my affections, or really
Know nothing of the affect you have on me and my emotions?
Your beauty humbles me, the look in your eye devastates my
Soul and I am drawn well after midnight once again to your
Picture in the frame.