One withering look
and I am an unbound book,
pages fluttering away, broken,
smitten with tiny kisses,
or temporary ink tokens.

She can reignite a dying sun,
set solarized skies ablaze
and make them burn
for days and days.

She can shift the seas,
then trade places with
strange faces that
echo older generations
which will never come back.

Five fingers folding in
touching my mind,
burying brilliance in my skin,
she is the door to
Oz, Wonderland,
and Neverland,
making me wonder if I can
fly like superman.

She supersedes the entirety of my being,
enveloping, in all shades of dreams,
making my reality her plaything.

Not a person, more like a metaphor,
or a hint of a thought I’m searching for.
There’s eternity and an ocean’s more
waiting for this dreamer outside her door.