She slips inside in sleepless nights.
Smiles on me her celestial lights.
The blaze of sun and the glaze of moon,
She shows them all and leaves just as soon.
She moves amidst those dancing shadows.
As if she owns me, around she wallows.
Whispering thoughts that’s just my kind,
I wonder ofttimes if she reads my mind.
When the dawn hits, she’s no more there.
Conjured of thoughts, she’s not so real.
A spirit, a musing, a fantasy, if you will,
Only her touch left behind for me to feel.
And that’s when I pen her down.
Her, and all her whispering.
Those genius words!
Those genuine thoughts!
I bleed them all out,
For the world to see.
And to think I’m a genius!
What can be a greater sin?
I am but a vessel,
A simple messenger.
For it is I,
who can see her, hear her, feel her.
So it is I,
who must present her beauty to all.
It’s not me,
Oh, not me!
I am but a messenger,
I am but a vessel.