I heard your soulful cry, my queen of sad smiles,
so I painted my Kingdom yellow, your favorite
colour that siphon ecstasy from the channel that
plug into heaven, I tried to imbibe harmony or
rather sermon, you called it spreading the gospel,
I tried to be your surgeon, fixing your repeatedly
impaled heart under your broken ribcage, but
you termed me amateurish, so I besought poetic
justice, all these tears for you, and for what? I can
only translate my feelings in writings, now you
call it going Adelle, all in all you are a living
documentation of beauty and its manifestations,
and I love you.