She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.
Her jungle of hair flourished on her head,
Contained by a green scrunchie
While the bangs on her forehead were spread.
A bite of the nails, a twist of the hair,
A brush of the bangs,
And her voice echoed like a call to prayer.
She goes to IHOP every weekend, knows the menu by heart,
Lives on pancakes and unlimited coffee,
Although she has been known to dabble with egg tarts.
She pulled her knees up to her chest,
Two Crocs, one green, one white,
Her gaze as stalwart as a tree in a forest.
When she spoke, her thoughts came out like trails of smoke,
Littering the room with her personality,
Those scraps of beauty as powerful as a thunderstroke.
She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.