The girl’s enigma

A map unfurled upon her face, each shift a foreign land.
Her eyes, like pools of changing tides, I struggle to withstand.
A smile, a sigh, a whispered word – a language all her own.
I fumble with the lexicon, where meanings can’t be known.

Her laughter rings like silver bells, then echoes into tears.
A tempest in a teacup world, a whirlwind through my years.
One moment warm, a summer sun, then ice within her gaze,
I trace the shifting patterns there, forever in a maze.

Is it the moon that pulls her so, a rhythm in her heart?
Or some grand, secret symphony of which I’m not a part?
I long to be the cartographer, unravel every line,
but mysteries, they say, are what make women so divine.

Perhaps the heart that seeks to know does so at its own cost.
Maybe wisdom lies instead in simply being lost.
I’ll watch her paint the sky with moods, a vibrant, swirling hue,
accepting that full understanding is a quest I won’t pursue.