She's a fragrance
Bottled in my mind's
Peripheral scribes.
My tutorial on how to stand

And my spine is giraffe's neck or,
Fixed-be-not, the Pisa Tower.
And I'm bound to be lower
But she hits my back and stirs me forth.

Liquid paper, solid gold
She's a gas of dizziness,
Though a simpler boy
You could never find on earth.

She's a quarrel in a body,
Younger muse for my hoorah.
Like the Russians say,
Blood and milk. However, in the case,
Porridge and strong coffee.
My perfected
Oh, my tailored
Healthy diet for the mind state.