Bright flashing eyes, a blush upon her cheek,

this vision that impales me every day,

and ties my tongue, yet nothing I could say

would set me free when she begins to speak.

 

The sound of her, the scent of her, unique;

the way she moves a classical ballet,

and all the world around her seems so grey

while she is vivid, coloured with mystique.

 

How is it that she weaves such wizardry

that I am spellbound, captive to her charms?

Can I escape, and would I if I could?

And when she looks at me, why can’t she see

how much I yearn to hold her in my arms,

enfolding her in perfect certitude?