Truck.

Sometimes I look at a person and wonder about the fantasies
Within, the ones that you hold onto just before sleep
The ones that you hope you could dream

That gaze- mouth slightly agape, hooded lids, shallow breathing
Arms idle by the sides, an awkward arc like a
Friendly monster with unshaven blue fur.

Sometimes when I see a would-be man
Give off a childish cry over something meager alike to
Flirting amongst preschoolers
I'm not quite sure what to think.

I like you, I like
You, I
Like you,

Like you.

Having said these what were you actually thinking. If

you segregate them they become vessels of different meanings
As though it could have the power to be confusing. Don't you

Project your fantasies onto anything and everything

Not all upon the radar is worthy- that includes me
It's scary, it's irresponsible, it's poetry without an author.

But that gaze, that uncomfortable
Way of looking- Take that pair of rose-tinted glasses off!