A Sonnet To The Girl In My Math 113 Class
Her skin is softer than a dove's feather,
More grace in her finger than can be measured,
Eyes so deep I could watch them forever,
Voice so enchanting it has to be heard.
In math one-thirteen I sit next to her,
Away from lecture my attention is lured,
Can't help but stare to my side at this treasure,
A Goddess to me... she must think I'm a nerd.
My heart burns for her: I want it so much.
Oh why do I bother? Why do I pine?
What I wouldn't give for a single touch,
But her love, I fear, shall never be mine.
I suppose that this was intended to be,
The girls that I love? They never love me.