To Austin

I pine for you, in some convoluted way;
Scores of lines I've felt, but them I never say.
When I think of you, my pulse does surge,
But calms as I recall how far our paths diverge:
You have your friends, all of them in band,
And that I profess to understand,
While I prefer to stay alone,
Safe within my own comfort zone.

I long to hear your oboe hum
For me a special serenade,
Yet reality strikes me glum,
And so I continue this charade,
And pass you by without a glance,
For I know I've but lost my chance.