I saw her the last night
And since then my sleeps are no more familiar to me.
I now do dream about her with open eyes
Seeing no reason in it
Except them being about her.
Is it her melodious voice
I am thinking about
Or the way her words manipulated me, swayed by her tongue.
Maybe her chunky eyes
Giving rise to her gossamer lashes.
Or those tenderly formed lips
Parted with sugar breath,
Standing high in Beauty like those rose petals does.
She running her finger through her auburn hair
Them being swayed by the blowings of heaven.
It is not only about her comely self.
It is more than what you and I couldn't find in our presence.
It is not only she I am looking about
But even the reason of hesitation being my passer by.
Now, methinks twice and again
On having left with abundance to describe
Where to begin from and how to end.
Maybe about her scarlet dress
Or that two minutes bliss I had,on having being beside her.
How much not fairly do I say,
For her beauty exceeding the words I do play.
I ended up being a painter,
Painting her seraphic self
For every stroke of brush states
That quiescent self being hers.
