I wasn't looking
when I found you -
or so the story's told.

Maybe looking,
but, around you -
my patience growing old.

Eyes hazy,
and glazed over;
blissfully unaware.

Searching
desperately,
for something just not there.

A bright smile grows
so wide, my dear,
the width of my own face

when I think of,
so fond-a-ly,
finding your hiding place.