Picture

You are that fallen Angel,
Who cursed this heart with foolish dreams
Those wings spread to cover any rival
Showing how inferior each beauty seems.

I cannot retire to the numbness of sleep,
As these thoughts of you cradle my delusion,
Freedom from its intoxicating keep
Is not worth reality's harsh intrusion.

A still frame caught your presence
And the person who is you, her beauty,
Those eyes gleam with impatience
Blinding me away from reality.

In that serene and shining smile
Vanity is hidden in the corners of the lips
But are these thoughts worthwhile
When she’s nothing but a layer of paper strips.