Glass Slipper

She walked in like she walked into my heart,
And left like no other as if this were her art,
A delicate slipper subtly left to fate,
In its retrieval who or what will it locate?
All this a single gesture of beauty
Am I the first, the last? That’s never the reality.
A perception left, a cast has been set
But has any other past impression been met?
How many slippers like this have I found,
Enough to make a matching pair if looked around.