She brought the light
contrasting my dark.
With every stroke of her beauty,
imperfectly perfect
Not painted by accident
but created with purpose

At first sight
i found myself ; somewhat inlove ,
drawn to her true colours
She  was art

You’re rare
more breathtaking than
a sunset on a summer night
more meaningful than
a sunrise on a winter morning
these will always be here
but no one
will be just like you
you’re rare
I can’t believe you’re mine
and that you call me yours
just as the sunrise
and sunset
I will be there

She was wobbling and sailing with the strokes—she was just bucking in all the dreads
and uncertainties—she was just staring and letting
the cold flood,
brush her naked feet.

The radiance that persists in her core—yet discovering that missing part;
Where is it?
Where can she meet it?
It was the same twists
that drove her alive
on the cushions
that piles around her feet—
it was meaningless
that she couldn't
wouldn't
understand—the notion of
her harsh sigh—the suffocating uncertainty that remains; that stays—circulating another form of pleasure,
in her spirit.

That is the curse at night—it drifts,
it resounds,
like a futile, annoying clock—she couldn't eradicate.