In her own words, I fell out,
when she told me what she's all about.

Her words played on my mind,
played with my mind.

In my own words, she's a kick.
I changed direction in the pass,
'cause she was positively kickass.

The mind was great, the body fine,
but I didn't need a first line.

I was sought and studied up,
was she sent to rip me up.

Live it up and rip away,
she can have me any day.

I asked The Great for what I wanted,
which wasn't quite this style undaunted.

The sweetest perfection was what I pleaded,
is this instead the thing I needed.

As one to balance our extremes,
to bring to light what only seems.

Only human but still amazing,
will good come of what I'm debating.

The cure of my uncertainty,
my double words repeatedly.

Returned with words that are taken twice,
the feared as meant and the twice as nice.

Foreign observations told,
and hopes that they fall within the fold.

The poet writes of love's perfection,
but fears a possible rejection.

An introvision of taunted strings,
which hangs the heart this creature brings

I behold her and have not yet told her,
of my growing desire to unfold her.

Patiences is a virtue grand,
and there is much I can withstand.

For a union of love and trust,
one must do what one must.

I continue to hope that Greatness allows,
and concentrate on imperative nows.

He writes of hopes, he writes of fears,
he hopes no end brings mental tears.

He looks at her and all is happy,
he hears from her reality.

Her reality is like a dream,
in his mind a promising gleam.

Rise and fall the life of tide,
crush all those who try to hide.