To The Beautiful Girl Who Will Never Read This

She whispers.
Her breath renders a gentle breeze,
brushing over baby hairs and making colors crisper.
Her words take me captive like a malignant disease.

Her lips graze upon my cheek
their gentle touch nestled in the hallow of my dimple.
Her potent love, healing the wounds of the weak.
She makes the chaos of living, simple.

Her brown eyes fall to meet my own,
hardly revealing, but so much to know.
At her fault my heart is prone.
In the gentle light her freckles show.

Soon her eyes abandon mine
to wander, and to roam.
And as they land upon another, I know I should let go.
If home is where the heart is,
I will never be her home.