Flattered

I see you so many times
In so many places
Each day.
In the elevators,
On the concourse,
On the street
From my jeep.
You are beautiful
In many different ways.
When we are close
I glance down
And look at your legs,
Your figure,
Your face and your hair.
I check your left hand
To see if you’re taken.
If you are,
I sigh and walk away.
If you are not,
I watch you walk by
And entertain the fantasy
Of stopping you
And talking to you.
Or even better
And easier,
You stop me
And you talk to me.
Hello, my name is.
What’s your name?
Of course,
That never happens.
I watch as you leave the elevator
Or pass me on the concourse
Or the sidewalk.
I wonder what would happen
If I did,
If I did stop you and introduce myself
And ask you your name.
Would you be flattered?
Or think me creepy?
The latter, I think,
Too often.