There were imaginations
That trekked great lengths
To conjure her essence, as she sat there,
Existing in her dust filled cabin.
They were those from a desert of buildings
Who could only find sustenance in LED screens desperately craving more.
There were those that followed
Her through streets of bustling clamor
Wiping through shoulders
Like a woodsman slicing his path to an ethereal body
Of rejuvenating water.
They were those that would have gouged their eyes
If it meant they could once hold her close
Lacerate their hands
If on crystal nights they could gaze into her twinkling eyes
Sever their ears
To whiff her lavender scent
And would have sat with mirth in the blood
Of their mutilation and cried out to whiff again!
To hold her closer
And witness her hazel eyes once more.
Even in the absence of curled lashes and powdered flesh
Did she emanate a vitalizing gleam
That would serve as the sole, genuine beacon of allure
Which they so seldom got to witness