She was as perfect as a work of art,
But warm and loving. What fantastic odds
Had brought them close? He felt his beating heart
Had somehow recognized her secret spirit,
A rhythm of her blood, a coursing rush
Of music too abstruse for ears to hear it.
He knew it was his brain that spawned this crush,
That spun the spell of leaping into love,
As if her soul were something made to order
To mesh with his. Not so much hand in glove
As hand in hand, toward a golden border.
Unsure if it was chance or hidden laws,
He uttered thanks unto the unknown cause.