She wears the sky like  a  smile,
two   soft   fists   of   stormlight
where  her  eyes   should   be—
fog  rolling  into   her   sockets,
her   pupils   swallowing   your
will to survive.

She’s a child playing peekaboo
with the world’s attention span
what  you  can’t  see—she  does
and will bruise you with it.

The truth—a submerged body,
a river  bending  its  shoulders,
its slow  hunger  against  your
secret desires for her pain.

Her   mouth—red  as  muscle,
against  your  pale  intentions,
tight-lip­ped siren  bracing  for
the  moment   the  sky  breaks
you wide open.

And  what  happens  when—
the light pours in like knives,
the world sharpens her heels,
her mouth  swallowing storm
your heart bleeds for her.