Snow melts at her feet,
her words make flowers grow.
She is the taste of spring water,
she is the smell of mountain air.
Her eyes are the color of rich soil
and towering trees,
and with one sharp glance she can silence the loud,
boisterous men who admire her beauty
without permission.
She looks only to the boy who hears music in her laughter,
who swears she is more beautiful than the sun rising in the east.
The boy with clear eyes and lungs full of moonlight.
you are my morning prayer,
he tells her.
you are my evening sky,
she whispers into the
curve of his smile.
And there is not one without the other.
They are two halves of a whole.