You are like tangible light
I dream of holding you tight
a fine kind of paper soul
Asking me to take a hold
A sheet of elsewhere to reach
Such delicate lines to breach
one touch is all I desire
It's just that my hands are on fire
I am so tired she said
Of fitting in this shiny dress
You know I never crossed a line
Her paper eyes were almost crying
You know I'd love to ease your pain
(but) at my touch you'll be gone in a flame
Yes - she said- please take me higher
but all I could do was stand there with hands
