worded she

she’s a yellow oxymoron,

your newest iambic pentameter

a rhythm always seeking new paces

and words you don’t understand.

She’s the opening stanza

That cant make sense

until the rest have been read

And the deeper meaning discovered

In a moment of revelation.

Enjambment-

on every line.

this undescribable, underlined upturned

alitteration.

The confusing concept

that is she.

She’s the adjective that describes the everyday verbs

That would sit there plain and undefined.

And as loud as an onomatopoeia.

She’s the ink on the pages

That ran out from your fountain pen

And blotted
As you worded thought.

She’s between pages closed

A Fading Metaphore

Unread

Undiscovered.