Magnetic

She's soft and light; she's sickly-sweet
In voice and aspect, face to feet.
The way her hair curls, frames her face:
As verdant landscape, trimmed with lace.

She spares her speech, conserves her voice.
My head and heart must make a choice.
Is it concern, or is it sin
That leads my head to leaning in?

She looks my way, more than a glance.
Is this my day?  Is this my chance?
Those dark, magnetic, mesmer-eyes
Gaze at one...whom they despise!