Mute-ual

You’ve met a woman.

Her jokes are funny,

her critical mind is stunning.

She calls anyone out

if they say s**t that's dumb,

her confidence’s blown up,

yet she blushed when you announced

that her hair looked nice

when she put it up in a bun.

 

You discuss revolutionary topics

in your favorite place - her office.

You steal the moment - greedily

grasping in her laughing voice,

pale long fingers. Her stubborn curls

keep falling on her sincere smiling face

She turned 36 - 18 days after you

turned 22. She says

she has a man too.

 

You wear loud stumping heels,

have your eyes meet hers 

at the same level. Not to mention

that your identity's dimensions

reflected in her bright crystallic eyes

are small in age - and young in size.

 

You wonder if he truly sees her,

if he cares about social issues,

if he point-blank even exists or

if she concocted him -

to help your obsession cease.

You've sent her dozens 

of "thank you" notes,

dedicated poems,

submitted empty class surveys

with anonymous love songs.

 

She knows you have feelings

she cannot reject ‘cause 

you never confessed them,

but maybe she just thinks

that she's your favorite professor.