she resides in shallow roads of entertainment
but treats them with disdain, much as I did
a certain disconnection radiates
and her very nature seems to flow a different way

she wears long skirts every day
leaving a trail of
colourful, reserved self-confidence
with every step another smile
and no end in sight; except Friday

she interrupts my writing with a pleasant surprise
one that throws back the clock and stokes a fire inside
but ceases to amaze me

she radiates potential with every inch of her body;
her straight shoulder length red-tinged hair
sends shivers down my spine

oh, how I wish I could appreciate her mystery without being judged!
she's excitable past a point
but is content with everything that comes her way
and I don't understand her;
she looks like a young Uma Thurman
those eyes look straight to my mind but don't have the tenacity to take an interest
and her voice is like none other; dry, caring, immature
and she won't let me in
because she doesn't know I'm knocking
because she's not old enough to notice

she was wearing the sexiest casual loose flowing pants
black; soft on the eyes
she has a taste for the unconventional
and is maturing quicker than the others
there's a mother in her
deep; caring; sensitive
oh why must the courts police my thoughts?

she was in a field when I saw her last
through a car window
maybe I'll see her again on Sunday?