beautiful stranger

once swayed to claim that Shakespeare wrote the perfect tragedy,
my teacher thought himself so wise as to say
"there's no such thing as perfect"
but when five years on, my eyes find your face
suddenly I want to turn back time
to argue the validity of 'perfect' until that teacher sees true

because what kind of creature are you
tousle-haired like you just woke up, though it's well past noon
your sweet honey eyes somehow ignited, turning toffee brown
skin so fair, peppered with freckles
nose curving gently downward
and smile slightly crooked, catching on the left hand side

this is something unfamiliar
where my head and heart stop working
(or work overtime)
my every thought, for a fleeting few minutes, is you
and like in Shakespeare, this is tragedy paired with perfection
for I do not know you, and never will