Crossed patchworks of scenes and dream-fed lies
This vacant observer and his perfect prize
That focussed stare, that angelic noise
And the way the torso vibrates with her voice

Devils, they are, in this waking land
To break the tryst, unbond the hands
Where now fly I?  Back to four walls and floor?
With mind full of echoes of a maiden adored

I haven't played her CD in months.

I don't know where this came from.  And I'm sure it'll pass just as quickly.

I wonder how tall she is.