The She

I try to get a glimpse of her

each time when she visits me,

the moment when she strikes my fingers.

But she always comes and goes in secret.

I speak of the sweet poesy, yes it should be a she.

So feminine are her ways, the beautiful witch.

Never shake your head at all she says.

In her rule book, a yes is defined as a no and a no as yes,

in the same way, as in the bible of women.

She wakes you up at untimely hours,

and want you to love her in very strange ways.

And if you fail her in it,

she pulls a long face and will be gone for days,

how many, you never know.

Trespassing into your sleep, she shows fleeting visions,

in your dreams, of wondrous imaginations.

The morning reminds you of it in a jumble,

but you never succeed in putting it in place,

and you lose your peace of mind.

Jumping out of nowhere amidst your morning walk,

when you enjoy a shower, sip a coffee,

you never know when poetry strikes you.

When you hold her close for a kiss,

she may slither away from your arms.

And may want to be kissed in the midst of a deep slumber.