little black dots fill up that space
in a not so death-defying pace
keeping track of tone of base
expound imagination
they know nothing of her fault
her nonchalant air of unnerving haught
even her bouts of mischevious naught
defy emancipation
end to end they pile on high
sands of sooty earthern dye
eluding catchers in the rye
resound exoneration
through lines they sing their songs of spring
shades of grey and ebony bring
moments that never meant a thing
inane perturbation
such is every little bit that
stitches up and seems to fit in
tiny cracks within my wit
here within my head
everytime i see her there i
reel and trip and stop to stare but
after that i just can't bear to
invite her to my stead
nectarine