There’s this girl



There’s this girl
And she smiles like Heaven.
Better than Heaven,
Warmer still and with temperatures
In the high forties;
Warmer than a fireplace.

There’s this girl,
Who says sinuous things, sentences
Rife with emotive, heart-in-breast-pocket sentiments
With an “all ages” sticker, easily comprehended
and still impossible to understand
a single thing she says,
like Joyce and his moocows.

There’s this girl worth thinking about,
This girl that used to make
Doing this easier,
Simpler,
Musing my mind into many metaphors,
Mostly maniacal, but maybe methodical.

There’s this girl beyond Oxfords definition,
Or Webster’s for that matter,
And I should love to paint her,
To give to her face and the mind it hides
The immortality that God promises.
Generations should know this girl I know,
And then no one would care about that Mona Lisa.

There’s this girl,
With brown hair,
And brown eyes, ten fingers
And ten toes that I’ve never seen
But can guess at from the contour of her socks.
There’s this girl,
Just this girl, another testament to God or Science or some spiritual genius,
Just another anatomy now and autopsy later.
But if she ever tries to convince you she’s just another girl,
Don’t let her.