E-male

Fingers sit on home keys poised
Like bullets ready to be fired
The thoughts flow through my fingertips
Till every knuckle’s stiff and tired

Words can cut like sharpened swords

Porcelain skin and chestnut locks,
Her smile brightens my most dismal day.
Is that a halo on her head?
Her voice is like a golden harp in play.

In my mind she owns a lofty perch,