She was beautiful
rolling of silken tresses
cascading her delicate shoulders
as if Niagara falls
i drawn of her beauty from afar.

She was unkind
her feet was bitten with wanderlust
i could never fetter those feet
with letters written
from her flighty dancing and bouncing.

She was skilled
she snowballed inspiration in her hands
caused diarrhea of ideas in my head
she laughed at me
while i made a mess
over my incompetence.

She was
a past, a history
abandoned her starving soul
till she left, died
and now my hands are left paralysed
paralysed in reminiscence
of her sweet voice...