I waited for the bus on that morning.
Cold and Shivering, then I saw you advancing,
And I warmed. Your beauty is forever
Over these motrals, gorgeous, yet i've
Never spoken to you; not once, never asking -
'How are you? '
I'm scared always and
Frightened of a withdrawal -
'Who are you? '
So run mate, run and never look back -
Your insecurity is forever pursuing.