She was a woman like any other women, she spoke the language of the moon and the night, and by day she reconciled with the clouds to find the stars. She moved as if the world was watching and talked as if no-one was listening. Her mind wandered down lonely paths as she sought to a road to take. Her silence communicated what she was trying to say. Her thoughts were not empty. Her vision was coloured and blurred. Life, passed by with watches and strings, and many a wondrous and blinded thing. She was judged, by judges that no-one had met, yet kneel at the altar of. Her face was a precipice that many fell upon, fell down, and landed on their own two feet. And these words were what I wrote for her.

You twist like a serpent around my head, you lie like a river in my bed. And the sheets that we lay upon are cold and perturbed, that they are not being stolen or being disturbed. Your beauty is blinding to those that feel the sun, the glare, the heat, whispers of being the one. I repeat, repeat, eject, eject. I’ve built you a majesty of mountains you find hard to collect. Pebbles of gold found in the shallowest stream, are fragments of the sun of which you dare to dream. I think of you, of you, you. And I run for cover, one amongst many, of many a lover. You see without looking, you hear without thought, you buy without drinking, you drink what you bought. And all of this I assume you have not dared to know, that clearly I see you and the seeds that you sow.

It is not easy for me to lie here and gaze at you sleeping, for it is far easier for me to hold you whilst you are weeping. I will take care of those troubles that lay in your head, but most likely I will forget you whilst I make my bed. I bite on my teeth, I pick at my hands, I cannot but daydream about our future I planned. Mostly I laugh, for it is nothing I know, but for sure it is rather my own soap opera show. Although I watch you quite quietly in the quietest of times, I sit here alone and write you these rhymes. I wish you would be silent and think of nothing at all.

So she sits in her ivory tower, a majestic sight to be held, built by many a weary lover. Innocuous to all attempts. Failed by the mightiest standards. If you asked me to, I would silence my heart, I would scrawl sweet nothings on bathroom walls, I would take care of you, I would do what was required. Tho I am not your deadliest sin, I am not your usual flame, I am not what you would call a surmise, a full pardon or expletive expectation. A breath is all it takes to bring you back to life, moth to a flame, enflamed and explosive by the light. Oh what a fright. What a fear. That I may just be the one to lie in your arms and be content and never ask for anything more.