Writing in Prosody

Holy shit, it's a sonnet, and almost in regular meter no less.

If you were around, I'd speak to you
and ask, as I do, but once a year
whether or not your advances are true
or false, as I have grown to fear.
But as you are gone, I write this note
and imagine I have your ear
and that while you are silent, as is your rote
your eyes tell a story more clear:
whatever we are, while unspoken, is real
and that I, to your heart, am still dear.
Through a lingering glance, or attempt to steal
a kiss or a stance much too near--
What fun we could have if the secret you keep
could be ours... or else put to its sleep.