Struck with a feeling, as immediate as the bow releases an arrow,
my gut tightens,
like an anchor pulling down as far as it can sink.
Caused by a simple glance, a mere glimpse of the greenish-hazel of her eye...
The color of leaves beginning to brown in the autumn chill.
One look overbears my pride,
lashing at me like a rodeo whip...
Just muttering a word to her would be the hardest event,
Comparable to riding the bull at this mental rodeo.
Nobody can manage that...
But amidst her smile, revealing a tiny chip in the top layer of her right front tooth, I calm.
My gut’s anchor releases.