She's a painted illusion of love,
that attracts me unlike most.
Yet quaint, her feelings-
are sparse and quite remote.
She's an abstract form of distraction,
and she detracts all my attention...
See, she's an oddly placed painting,
spangled to attract and mangle my heart,
one I stare at like a gecko-
upside down, down side up,
as she wiggles up on her ego ceiling,
inciting my feelings like an ibex...
In my mind I hear her soft chants,
whispering and drawing me,
driving me to the asylum,
and seating me with my fellow mates
who sail with me on her sea of attraction-
distraught, singing shanties to please her.
We are disgruntled goons,
friends till one of us lures and claims-
her distracting presence to self.
There after, knights turned robin hoods,
stealing possessions from the rich,
to give back to our own poor souls...
Yet if through war and theft I acquired her,
and fit myself in her polished frame,
I'd have forgotten how to honestly love her.
For it's love at first sight, then desire
and admiration at second observation
after which, scavenging for lost love...