Now it’s time to write about her;
quick, while she’s asleep!
She knows not of the blur
my life has become when I weep.
Her charcoal hair holds a starry sheen
like Snow White, but not a fairytale.
You could say I’m living a dream,
but the slumber ship has yet to set sail.
The face that is fairest of them all
full of life, full of light
like springtime blooms beside a waterfall;
a breathtaking sight.
I could look at it for eternity and then some
for she would be caught in a loving embrace
in a place where nothing needs to be done
and all speed diminishes in pace.
Is this what I seek?
A desperate desire,
a search for whom to speak?
A fantastical fabrication;
product of my imagination.
It working, I cannot see
All I can ask of you
is to forgive me.
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