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?