One. Look at and not through her; lock your gaze unto hers. Swim in her core through her lenses, and set her soul on fire, then.

Two. Know and say her name. Run each letter through your lips. Savor each syllable that slithers through your knowing. Grab her hand and shake it, too.

Three. Ask for and call her number. Let each digit seep in through your memory. 0906. 7. 1. Text her, maybe, occasionally.

Four. Take her out for dinner. Maybe for lunch. Maybe for whatever. Solely just to know her better. Hold her hand. Lean in tight. Plaster your gaze each time you take a bite. Breathe. Let her breathe, and take her in your arms.

Five. Kiss her. Slowly, then softly. Devour her inner demons; taste the bile in her soul. Cover her in glitter - in candy canes, and not in anything bitter.

Six. Pull away, and let her start the chase. Call her once, then not again. Say it's love, and never again.

Seven. Let her wither away. Like an autumn leaf as winter springs. Let her soul be feeble glass; your apathy, it's undoing.

E. I. Eight. This is how you break her. this is how you **** each ounce of her; his is how she falters. Nine slits on her wrists. Ten failed attempts. Eleven in the evening. Twelve roses on her coffin. Thirteen guesses for the culprit. Fourteen times, all wrong. Fifteen was right, and XV was you.

Sometimes when you read a verse
The words hit your soul hard
They make you wonder all night
“How can someone fabricate such a piece of art?”

The feeling each syllable holds
Gets carved into your heart
Words inspiring you to weave some of your own
Which might cause the ordinary populace to feel your warmth

With excitement flooding
You pick the quill only to wonder
Would your quill succeed in
Re-creating the magic
You recently witnessed?

You drop the quill
Not because of self-doubt
But because you just know
That some magic tricks only belong
With svelte magicians
And sometimes you yield sweet joy
In being touched by others
Just witnessing greatness…

The famous here
Have many followers,
But the wise gather the dreams
Of many

Wet ink curtains press me
Down, sinking into my bed
But delicately raises me like lacy smoke
To hover in a violet cloud;

And such is the way of fairies

Silver tongues, diamond cut,
Artfully place pandering
And articulate acupuncture
Dragging your cheeks up with hooks
Until you are caught by strings
A marionette madly dancing
To another's fine sour tune