She sticks to your skin like sleep on leather She's potent as gin and light as a feather She's spending the night in your temporal lobe She'll dance in your head, in her sequin robe
A craftsman of fantasy Your minds beautiful synergy She's a brainwave ****** electricity
She makes cave paintings on bones Her pictures mystic and unknown So much like primitive nature Running over with every tone
Your mind is domicle to her Your mind is canvas to her She grows like wanted weeds, like the clung dirt on seeds She crawls the minds walls, She's vines all in a sprawl
She's your minds mistress Making mental mischief Thoughts you have are her's through you She's there like glue to intrigue you
Not one of my better poems, but a combination of a love for amateur neurology and having writings concerning women.