But I Do Hope That She Will Become Mine Poem by Theorem The Truth Serum

Her dark eyes have a joy in it that it's color cannot express.
Her dark hair, braided laying upon her shoulder like a
piece of golden rope, it shines and it glimmers.
It has wrapped itself around me and pulled me in like
a cowgirl with a lasso and horse.

She can pull me in, as long as it ends in a kiss
or in love by some shape or form, true geometry,
graceful and symmetrical as our bodies crash
against each other like two dancing lovers.
Is she my love? No, but I do hope that she will become mine.