Imperfectly

Pensive, equally dispensed with,
off topic, she's easily emotive.
For her thinking makes love hectic,
able in tune, but difficult, livid.

On her own, she doesn't feel alone,
she gets sedate and love's unknown.
For in meddle, its her humbling echoes,
a delicate step with her frozen toes.

She's unwilling inasmuch as my hesitance,
for neither knows where to begin;
and alarmed, we take it from the top
cold marrow, and the brief bus stop.