Behind Me

She reads words after words, Her hand idle on my shoulder, Her heart is beating louder, I write words after words. Asking from where they came with a slightly head nod, Trying to read the method guiding the words as they came. Who asked to the dandelion: why or where he will be? Shouldn’t be happy to see and not ask to the dandelion? If I know the correct answer I will coat with a golden dress, jewells and fortune to impress who wanted the correct answer. And she would stay with me, either if did or not understand why I always kiss her hand while she is writing with me