She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I swear I’m more interesting But thoughts remain untouched in my mind; What if they were to become mangled upon speaking? So I type conversations That could’ve happened together in person Because that way I don’t have to witness reactions I have time to process Time to think Space to leave.