musing on a look

Something in your eyes, what is it?
The way you look at me.
I can’t even read it;
I just know it has heat,
I don’t know what it means.
Why do you always look at me that way?
I’m sixteen again.
Knees buckling.
Butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
Breathing suddenly seems complicated.
What are you thinking?
I wish I could read your mind;
Well, part of me does.
I can’t meet your gaze.
Looking away seems safer.
But even when I do I feel you looking.
I wonder what it would be like to be alone with you and see that look.