This, My Heart Eloquent Never Speaks

This, my heart eloquent never speaks,
because it is easier not to say how
the way you smile easy and laugh softly
sets my blood boiling fingers poised
held back to keep from touching your
thin lips; I like you too much.
Your easy way of taking space
as if you negotiate with the universe
so that it accepts you and incorporates you
instead of forcing yourself into its fabric,
makes me stutter and fail to tell you
how I long for your hands in my hair
red ribbons between artists fingers.
No, this my heart eloquent, will never
speak; because I love you is a trap.
Yet today as we tangled thoughts
over sustenance I found myself wishing
that your eyes found me an apple
to be devoured on a Thursday afternoon.