Why is there nothing
I want to know more
than whether you like me?
You’re wilder than the sort
I seek. Erratic. Untended and apt
to provoke without a reason.
Yet all I try to do is to
unpuzzle you, choose any path that may not
lead from your affection,
wonder which man patterned out
such inscrutable whims, unreadable
responses, each phrase uttered code or coincidence.