She's like ink on parchment paper
Solid with faded edges
She's got a lot of weight while being light
Trying to make sense of the shape
At the same time respecting it
I respond in kind by being weightless, a feather quill
To her I am a threaded needle, continuously progressing into a seam
Starting from the beginning until the end
Making a garment without any shape or form
Responding in kind with a letter of my own
A
Ey!
Hey.
As cryptic as where we started
It has potential to end
If I continue our thread there could be a *** of gold that isn't a fool's
There could be a painting made for my frame
There is something about her skin that deserves solid lines
That stretches out toward the strobe lights
That makes its way toward the true light
If paradise was meant for the wicked
Then we are created to balance good and evil