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There is Something

There is Something

She is not my type.

I do not want to like her.

I do not want to like anyone.

It would complicate my life.

If I was going to pursue-

If I was ready for that now-

It would not be her.

She is not my type.

She takes off her glasses-

The frames too big for her face-

She fixes a stare at me-into me.

It is disconcerting.

I want flirtatious coyness.

I want the common signs of interest,

But she has no expectations.

She is used to being the unseen.

She would be surprised to know-

But not surprised to know-

She is not my type.

I do not understand.

I lean forward, not wanting,

Since she is not my type.

Still, I lean forward,

“We should go out again sometime.”

I say, knowing

She is not my type.

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