Poetry

She was like a girl lost happily
in a attic,
when she told me of her childhood, of things
that catch and trick,
of some magic bottles in the pantry,
her tongue did lick
her lips in great excitement, we looked
at some semi-precious rocks, she was hooked
 
on a blue necklace of glowing sapphire,
amazing hued,
with a unknown fire in its blazing depths,
we were then glued
to imaginings, flights of fantasy;
just by some blued
gemstones that catch the eye in their sparkling
and being with her was quite exciting.