So I chanced to find a little something that I composed a few weeks back.

"I'm jealous," she admits, to

which he responds with

immense surprise and he

begins to walk towards her

from across the cerulean room.

"Why should you be?" he says, his voice

pertaining to the smoothness of velet. "You,

who make my days better with just

the ghost of your fleeting smile and

even in my dreams, I see you. With me

you stay until the morning - to which

in my awakening slumber I find myself

disraught when I discover it is

but an illusion. Yet I am content

for I know it is you that will welcome

my embrace when I see you face to face."

He takes a seat beside her as he offers

a fond smile, his eyes of

burnt umber crinkling with overwhelming affection.

"And so, my dear," he whispers adoringly as he

plants a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Why

should someone like you, feel

jealous?"

... Someone teach me how to string my inarticulate and discombobulate thoughts into pretty lines of poignant poetry.