At Her Window

i saw a lady in the dying hours of the sun,
that my breath in a click of a casio did take,
a heart for a moment a beat did avoid,
she was beautiful,
in words no description can be made,
her lucious lips,
coated in tantalizing girly stocks,
her eyes shaded,
brows well made,
a beauty that out would stand,
even in the stillness of asian innovations..

watched her model away,
in einstein matheciated steps,
and finese of a lioness,
with ease and slightly hidden agility,
as the ground took her tiptoes,
in cyclic turns,

but woe unto me,
for in my lineage courage to chase a damsel was devoid,
greats that of taming a shrew got scared,
left to watch and trail,
in distances and imaginations,

and now in her bed refuge she seek,
while i across the streets at her window stare,
wishing she could just for a moment stand,
walk to that window and see,
that i would brave the cold for that final glance of her,
as i write her goodnight in the air,

but though my silent utters she doesn't hear,
i cross my fingers,
with hope that in one such night,
when rain drops fall down her window panes,
and the winds blow those fibble leaves away,
in one of her dreams i will feature,
bringing the smiles that long be sort,
and love never unearthed,

till then below this lamp i stand,
in stares undetered,
awaiting that final glance of this angel.

©2011