Attic lily,
Crafted from Michelangelo's  hands,
a gem eyes fumble to adore.
Shapes, lines, curves perfectly placed on her body to sing harmonies that echo perfect anatomy

Attic lily,
a dazzling dream,
but her soul hugs a dead sun.
She's a sculpture of fair marble
built with a jungle of thin strings to fill her entirety, like a cat's cradle adorned with twines of roses to mimic completion.

Naive,
she thought losing a few petals for the happiness of others was kind
A rose for him, a rose for her...

Selfless,
she is all but a mirror,
for her smile has always been a reflection of others.

Hypocrite,
she wears a face with printed traces of happinesses to shadow the gloom breeding under her own.

Attic lily,
strong built independent woman
but secretly prizes to be caressed in hands with a feeble touch,
...to be pursued with a genuine smile
..to be treated worth more than an art piece in a gallery that eyes dart on and forget about it, the second they walk past.
to be checked when her soil dries out.
Attic lily, she is,
for no one notices her unless they need something from the attic.

They say, Never say never,
I guess l now know why
Because, I'd never have thought that
reading could be so addictive.

I found a book today,
and...I've only read the first chapter of her,
  I already know I'll want to finish her story,
probably read it again and again,
Until my fingers can effortlessly trace every detail of her pages,
...until I can flawlessly feel every emotion she keeps secret with my eyes closed.

I found a book yesterday, and since I opened it,
like a puzzle, she fits perfectly
with each turn of the page, I want her more.

I'm addicted to her story,
to the way she knows where to look inside of me.
to the feeling of completion when she's close.

I found a book that I can't put down,
and if it's okay with her, I'd like to keep what I've found, as I become a part of her story.

...and if it's not forever
Let me be the best season you've lived.

Attic lily,
Crafted from Michelangelo's  hands,
a gem eyes fumble to adore
   Shapes, lines, curves perfectly placed on
         her body to sing hormonies that echo
            perfect anatomy

Attic lily,
A dazzling dream, but her soul hugs a dead sun
fair marble sculpture,
     built with a jungle of thin strings to fill
          her entirety, a cat's cradle adorned
                with twines of roses to mimic completion.

Naive,
she thought losing a few petals for the
      happiness of others was brave
          A rose for him, a rose for her...
   Selfless,
    she is a mirror, for her smile has
         always been a reflection of others.     Hypocrite,
     she wears a face with printed traces of
           happinesses to shadow the gloom
                 breeding under her own.

Attic lily,
strong built independent woman
     But secretly prizes to be caressed in
           hands with a feeble touch
...to be pursued with a genuine smile
..to be treated worth more than an art
             piece in a gallery that eyes dart on
     and forget about, the second they walk past.
to be checked on when her soil dries out.
       Attic lily, she is,
         for no one notices her unless they
               need something from the attic.