One foot forward. Slender as a swan's neck,
Tapping gently on the floor, its curve so perfect.
Darest my hand reach out? O to touch! To check...
To leap out, ungainly, perhaps that might be worth it.

The flick of her hair, like a fawn in the corner of your eye,
Like grain tossed up in the air, shimmering gold.
But surely more precious than that base metal. For certainly I'd die,
To run such thread through my fingers, that seem by contrast so cold.

Eyes like a sapphire. Focused on something not I,
Nor J, nor K, but alive and each movement alight,
Each blink like an eternity of world without sky,
Each flutter of eyelashes, like day turned sultry night.

Hands upon which five graceful ambassadors sit,
Five angels taking turns to softly sing,
Five lovely sirens that do only each company befit,
And muted shame, to my sad palm bring.

A flower amidst flower, those pretty lips,
Drawing an unhappy sigh as if I were but twelve,
Like the dearest of sweets in a shop, a confectionary kiss,
Before she dances away, sitting on the out-of-reach shelves.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Ero, in the year 397 AF.