Her eyelashes
turn into little shy rainbows
when the sunlight
kisses the windowpanes of her soul,
& the pots of gold
are the simple dimples
that nestle in the quiet hues of her cheek,
Like a cool evening breeze...
She is.
The wispy butterflies
that playfully flutter within my hollow chest acknowledge her presence,
their wingtips scraping my paper rib cage
& knocking loose the flickering light bulb
that calls itself my beating heart,
So set apart...
Is she,
that diamonds line the inside of her thighs
& i just happened to find
traces of gold
in the scars that saunter down her spine.