And her hair’s a Tahitian waterfall
And her eyes are recent sandstorms
And her lashes are ash doors
And her nails are her past thoughts
And her fingers are missing passports
And her ears are scrupulous
And her shoulders are illuminous
And her chest is proving its elusiveness
And her laugh is my lucidness
And her smile is my stupidness
            Her cheeks, a cherry blossom’s breath.

And her humour is cheesy toasties
And her sarcasm, the colour of roses
And her care is a pleasant heaven’s hostess
And her nights are spent all cosy
And her stumbles I never notice
And her sleep is a magician’s hat
And her work is like hidden hands
And her stress is a missing bag
And she hates the fact she moans
But I could live with that.
            Her heart
            Her heart is Pica      ss
            Her lips, the doors of a confessional

So her messages are encrypted mirrors
And her voice is tied in ribbons
And her gestures are enticing mixtures
And her breath smells like the finest dinners
And her touch is just an instance
And her touch is just an instance
And her touch is just an instance