She carries the night’s constellations,
scattered across her face—
a sign, perhaps,
that even Heaven leaned in too close.
Her eyes spark,
not gentle, not tame,
but like the charge in the air
before lightning strikes.
To love her
is to be burned,
and to be blessed.
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 10:21 PM UTC
She carries the night’s constellations,
scattered across her face—
a sign, perhaps,
that even Heaven leaned in too close.
Her eyes spark,
not gentle, not tame,
but like the charge in the air
before lightning strikes.
To love her
is to be burned,
and to be blessed.
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