Coward love

This might be the first of the many we walk,
She wears Breton with feathers and tassels.
That purse on her among the tiny talk,
Now eyes peered past heathers and castles.

We hum to the clacking of passing wheels,
Sepia lights flicker of our own’s swind.
Each click of her heels reveals how I feel,
A blooming beauteous flower, soft and kind.

I might not be in kilter for this bloom,
Yet can’t deny the propositions given.
I truly am at sea, and drifting whole,
Maybe all that for this is seen as clearly.

Her loves are for one or me to deluge,
Yet so far I drown under incompetence.