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. 



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