Camille her beauty pursued.
Music she listens to according to her mood.

Before you can get to her hearts door there is a huge body of water that is frozen to cross.
All those who can't ice skate withdraws.

To her heart's door there is only one course.
When she takes off her glasses she is like a princess.

Her poem is a process.
Not writing her a perfect poem is pointless.

She is as sweet as the sweet things she likes.
I have to admit it. That's why I have to write it.

A closet with a mirror containing all the clothes and shoes she shopped for.
Where she keeps her special things a safe in her hearts floor. ©M.P.Jacobs