The Object of My Affections

The object of my affections never sits
farther away than 10 feet.
My tin feet ring hollow on the floor
so sit as still as stale air.
My angel's hair is dark and curly.
I imagine she likes lilacs
and would smell good with them
in her hair.
Here sitting there
is frustrating
because I am impotent in my indecision
to tell her
that she is the object of my affections.
She looks like chastity
but her eyes say otherwise.
I know she's been around the
block a few times more than I.
I fantasize that her sitting still
is her feeling the same way about me,
but I know that's not true
because she never looks my way.
Every day I try to see her eyes,
as warm and soft and brown as they are
and though i see her smiling,
It's not at me, it's through me,
and I know that she has her eyes on
another.