A Token

A token of this lady's sweet esteem
Can be quite hard to define without clues:
Is she the kitten? Has she got the cream?
Or does she want some more? What are her views?
Who's failing quite spectacularly now?
At least that's what she says, feeling the fluster
Of Monday speeding by, let the day's flow
Be volatile - let the minutes cluster,
Before they rush away and hours pass;
Although, it almost seems that time has stopped;
And every breath is simply circumspect;
And every thought is caught - the mind is locked;
Unwilling to look up - she can expect,
Here, beneath his gaze once he has spoken
Finding her esteem is but a token