III

Sitting at the keys with the screen dim

No sleep has come yet

Mind whirling about over the same beautiful face

Not helping my already confused state

In a world of relentless beauty

Wondering about the unseen

Wishing for something, anything

Just to be close would justify my misery

Succulent peaches glistening

No movement nor sound escape them

Waiting to be plucked and eaten

Only the few lucky will ever get to taste

Long brown curtains blow in the wind

Brushed by the hand of God Himself

Deep pools of watered silt stand prominent

Never faltering or waining, only glistening

The face that launched a thousand ships
I used to have to imagine
Trying to rationalize my thoughts
But her beauty has overcome my sense