[ She bites her lips, thinking a minute - no, no she doesn't, not her own at least. But she takes her step forward, a hovering hesitation - he wanted poetry, well she could give him something half the same as she rocks the rest of the way, leaning her face closer to his, taking in that small soft breath that is - recklessness, as reckless as yelling at him in a garden. ]

'I swear, since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy. The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom. The distracted birds can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare.'

[ Sounds out each word carefully, sincerely, all of the meaning she needs. Not her own words, no, but she thinks, she thinks it will make do. ]