This one is largely fiction.

Allí Leigh

Allí Leigh, you pierce my heart
with your poor attempt at art
on your nails and on your face,
which belies a deeper grace,
giving me a deeper smart:
Allí Leigh, you pierce my heart.

Allí Leigh, you stir my soul,
which could scarcely be your goal,
knowing so little of me;
I know less of you, but see
how your half-smile is whole:
Allí Leigh, you stir my soul.

Allí Leigh, you torch my mind,
and at Eucharist I find
myself seeing you, not Christ
who for true love sacrificed
himself: were my eyes but blind!
Allí Leigh, you torch my mind.

Allí Leigh, you pierce my heart
with the way your dark eyes dart,
the way that you toss your hair
and sigh softly (what an air!);
thus we finish where we start:
Allí Leigh, you pierce my heart.