Aloft

Some high, some low, some loud, some not, my guides above me, just aloft.
As a naive a trial, an inch a mile, still drawn to her, my stunner does pull me, though rarely soft.

Each blink clearer, my gate the lighter, my ebbs tax less, now I Know, no need to guess.
My guile ever quickening, my aim ever closer, I so much love this style of dress.