The consequence

It's hard to devise all your signals,
Encoded through silence, treacherous under  
The light that pierces through my eyes.
I hold in my thoughts, the same  
Idea that, now idle, stranger gave me:
Each thing in the world has  
A language of its own.
In my own language, to my defense,
I'll tell you this, all I think
I know: that I'm intrigued by  
How you looked at me, yes,
But I'm perplexed about why.
Ridiculous platonic love,  
At first sight, I noticed that quality,
That impossibility, my love,
And that no matter how much I covet
An intimate moment, or no matter
How much more beautiful you may  
Become, you shall never become
Mine. No, no, you'll never be mine.