November 19, 2015


Pastel lips, pale face.
Eyes that're blue like the sea.
Hair that curls like cinnamon rolls.
Reading with a cup of chai tea.

Lips that spur words of wisdom and wit.
A mind that's as sharp as a thorn.
Eyes full of sorrow and joy akin.
Possessing a voice that her peers adorn.

She prefers candle light to fluorescent bulbs,
tales of horror to those of romance,
overcast storm clouds over the sand and the beach,
and at weddings she'll drink wine and dance.

She wonders why people grow up just to die,
why pleasure must come with the pain.
Her favorite coffee is vanilla flavored with cream
and she loves the winds before the rain.

Her favorite scents are those of gasoline, cigarettes, cologne,
and her nostalgic perfumes on her shelf.
No matter how lovely she sounds or appears,
she can't seem to appreciate herself.

She's a sunflower: an idealist, a romantic,
and she follows the path of the sun.
But, flowers must lose the life in them, too,
once their petals start coming undone.

She gains her intelligence from fiction novels
and the conflict the protagonist confronts.
Nobody else can come close in novelty,
she's the gold in an estranged treasure hunt.

Coffee is a staple in her morning routine.
Green tea is a staple at night.
She prefers Moccasins to shoes with laces.
Her scent is the woods at twilight.

Carnation lips, flushed face.
Eyes reflecting a shallow lagoon.
Hair the color of chocolates on Valentine's Day.
She beams and she hides like the moon.

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