A Thimble’s Promise

I am fascinated

by the back 

of your head. 

My eyes bore 

into your hair,

willing you to glance

over your shoulder. 

Either shoulder. 

I’m not picky. 

A hint of your

profile, even,

would suffice. 

I yearn for 

one image to 

etch into 

my retinas. 

Please don’t 

misunderstand me. 

I have “most ardently”

fallen in love 

with the back

of your lovely

cranium. 

I suppose I’m

always a step

or two behind–

like the damn

Monopoly player

who won’t

give up. 

Send me to jail. 

No two hundred

dollars for me. 

Just, please–

please–

turn around. 

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