it's difficult to place
this haste you make
to fiddle with my reactions,
statements that hibernate
as soon as they're awake.
obvious lace to make
my face a blushing mess,
touching your dress to 
straighten out my viewing lens.
pressed in pictures to 
remind me of how sullen this dream is,
how does it end if
in fact you'd dote till then?
these seasons postpone perseverance,
but we're prone to disturbing
the other's senses...
gift-wrapping utter perfection.