The beauty that meets my eye
diminishes my supply.

Not an aspect of features
in her figure escapes my sight.

It’s the greater
that I can’t understand.

So powerful is the draw
I’m sketched a thousand times,
but I’m just scribbles within a frame
and, by comparison, she’s the real thing;
painted marble from head to toes;
crafted by hands that are not of this world.

And I, myself, already know
that moment's breath screamed past my grasp,
as my lungs could not even laps,
as if they were as desperate as
asphyxiation due to water deprivation…

But sub lines there’s a confusion,
and a resolve that’s a ****** resolution.

To write withered worried thought
and never to do more than trot
along on my way…

As if a gallant gallop
could save someday
that goes unmentioned.

There she is in time;
here I sit within
the primal nursery rhyme.

“Scared away…”,

It rejects to say,

*“You’ve not only wasted your lines,
but I’ve also wasted mine.”