From below I catch a glimpse of her,
limp hands off the balcony
I stop mid-stride, from within swells a tide
she stands a product of otherworldly alchemy

Squinting, straining, I make out,
the wisps of a brunette
Two paces back, my eyes on track
her lovely little brown eyes met

Poised in Gucci crop top,
she scoffs and turns away
With Jimmy Choo's, Versace skirt of blues
the goddess struts and sways

If only she weren't a princess,
or if a prince were me
If like Sawyer I could draw, house and man devoid of flaw
Alas, maybe my words can summon Becky