What will be

Wishes float by my gaze like bubbles on the breeze.
In them I see my surmise, a pair of deep brown eyes.
Who can save me from their ever bearing disease?
Of whispered nothings, of emotions and there ties.

I look at one and I move to touch the floating sphere,
But I move barely a muscle, and it disappears.
I look and look for another as beautiful to appear,
And one even more taking appears.

But I move not, in case it brakes,
Instead I just breath on upon it,
And though my heart, it aches,
But its already quivering a bit.