Troubled with Wonder

I saw your face beautiful and full of mischief

I began to wonder what was behind your beauty and twisted in your brain.

I wondered what your darkest secret was

I wondered what your eyes looked like in the sunset—would there be gold flecks dusting a dark brown and surrounding a midnight pupil

Would they be cold, staring deep into my whole body as if they were trying to isolate my weaknesses.

Maybe they are warm like the milky way with small constellations made up of your dreams.

I wonder about your hands- maybe they're cold and rough like the fall winds.

Possibly they are warm and slender- dragging out every motion trying to burn it in my mind.

I often ponder what your hair looks like in the morning

-if it sits with grace, or dances with ferocity.

I manifest pictures of what your first tattoo will look like, sewn into your skin to be forever remembered.

Will it be colorless in fear of being too bold? Or will it seep with color so deep that your eyes seem to soak up the color and whip around the iris.

Wondering always got me in trouble, but this trouble I don't think I'd mind.