Moving passion

To my beautiful subway stranger.

here I stand,arms flooded with cotton weights

and peculiar eyes,waiting for a ride,

a faster clock,a stronger sense of pride...

then I see you- I do not flinch,

yet my body shifts towards your

silent magnetism:

plain clothes,auburn hair,lips as light

as feathers brushed against a blank page-

I wish to be released,but your unaware grace 

ties an invisible knot around my legs,

around my hips,above my neck...

leaving the hallow earth becomes a sacrifice 

of unidentified proportions,while your path

and careless walk remain the same;

you will never know I wrote this poem for you

nor will I ever guess whether your gaze met

my being by fleeting and divine accident-

you are now a ghost,a living and breathing ghost...