She is golden and gracious
with soft fingers.

Feathered whispers of her thoughts
drift gently from the center of her perfectly puckered mouth.
She is with edge and without excess,
leaving no flaws in her path.
She transforms everything as she passes,
raising mountains above the atmosphere,
strengthening
the wilted flower,
springing the dead back to life.

She gives roses without thorns.
The air around her is densely sweet
and even the saltiest of her tears
must be silky to the grasp.
No one can grasp her.
She is strong but finely delicate
like rays of sun making winter
seem less cold.
Is there any darkness in her light?
Could those fists ever clench in anger?

The petals of her love are too permanently
spread across his waters.
One could swim and swim
until arms ache and lungs throb
trying pluck every remaining petal from his oceans
but still the scent would linger
and he would remember anticipations
of her taste.
He is lost in the cloud of her forever,
as it sweetens the cool of his mind,
awakening the dust to the dawn,
bringing clarity to the chaos of his storms.