"I didn't notice you for a beauty, the first time we met," you said.
"Hush!" said your friends. "Don't you know,
you are talking to a woman??"
Ought I to be offended?
Ought I to prefer that you were the sort of man to fall in before the girl has opened her mouth to speak, has put her hand to any nearby plow, has echoed reason or love or worth of any kind?
Ought I wish that my face overwhelmed you,
knocked you over,
you encountered it?
(ought I imagine there aren't thousands of better faces to knock you again and again in the years ahead-- long after my.... elasticity... has lost the battle with time?)
I am as far from wishing that you had loved me on sight as I am from wishing I had loved you on sight... for I cherish those months of my indifference.
I prefer hearts that are earned,
(and I like to think
that we will make up