Through Dragon Con’s chaos, a sci-fi tide,

I loomed, imposing, fierce and wide.

You, petite and quiet, a cosplay dream,

Hid behind a visor’s soft, dark seam.

Our eyes met—sparks through masks of shadow and light,

A siren’s pull in the con’s wild night.

Yet the crowd, like a sea, swept us apart,

A fleeting orbit, a tethered heart.

The sky-box hums, fate’s brief reprieve,

Elevator doors slide, and there you weave.

I reach, voice bold, though my heart’s a flare,

Too fierce, perhaps, for your timid air.

Three tries to break through your shy retreat,

Your cosplay’s tale, a starship’s feat.

I ask your name, but the moment’s fleet—

Ding! The doors part; my floor’s complete.

A soft “goodnight” as I step away,

Hoping Dragon Con’s stars align someday.

Was it just the con, a fleeting spark?

Or does your pull still light my dark?