Pages into dreams – as their stand painted in an enigma
of beauty; being the pencil drawn to you, La Gioconda
"The joyous woman"

As they call your smile a masterpiece; man tries to
piece together every fibre of what makes it so –
“Female power”

Still, I guess parts of your story hangs in the frame of
being an unfinished work – where parts of your soul
aren’t the parts that are fully whole. But the memory
of you holds a place in history.

Of where we met; under the tears of dripping paint,
as I’d share the dreams, I traced out on my notepad’s
pages – staring an hour’s end, knowing that even as
long as I could stare at your smile, we never actually
met.

Still, I have the picture of your smile, to retrace all
the memories in my head – oh the beauty of the
Mona Lisa smile; how it does in my head.