Indie Scribe Magazine August 2014 | Page 39

yes i felt your eyes on me

staring through the café window as i read

i even flicked a lid and checked you out

and even though

from cursory examination

you're just my type (whatever that is)

i ignored you

these days i stay buried in books

the printed word my salvation

my ticket away from a mirror

throwing back nothing but mistakes

my reservoir of resilience dried up

burnt black in the scorching heat of loss

so i ignored you and your interested smile

i can afford a new book every now then

but have no wherewithal

to pay the price demanded for a heart