Enchanted.

"If it were a cold November night,
with a howling storm outside my cosy home.
Rattling the glass windows with such urgency and haste,
and making we want to light the fireplace,
and have roasted apples and buns
Also maybe some marmalade.
I can show you happiness in a cupful of ground coffee beans,
and in the sin my eyes commit every time I stare at your face.

You were staring into space,
and I was staring at you.
Staring, wondering, dreaming, yearning, longing :
but I continue to stare,
as I just stood there,
tracing the outline of your jawbone with my eyes.
It is frightening what a few well defined bones and expressions
can do to another soul.

You've a mouth to die for.
Oh, yes. That Adams apple,
which vibrates as you speak.
I am sitting on my couch on a cold November night,
and here you are.
Maybe just eating roasted apples and marmalade,
Maybe just watching something on tv,
Maybe just sighing out names of other pretty faces,
But I simply watch you weaving magic,
without having absolutely no idea
About the effect you can have on another soul.
What does an artist need more?
On a cold November night in her warm, cosy home,
Such a blasphemous sight,
Of beauty existing on its own."