Not the shape of her body
Nor the waves of her hair
Nor the nape of her neck
Or the shoes that she wears
Not the brown of her skin
Nor the green of her eyes
Nor the quiver in her voice
Or the warmth of her thighs
No, not one of those things
To me matters more
Not one of those things
Do I so adore
More than that gossamer glint,
That erstwhile song of love unspent
Awakening me from dark unrest
Her smile is that which does me best
