she’s a flower, tall beaming and bold ready to take on the winter and summer as easily as she flicks her wrists to get ready to write that next stanza, a force to be reckoned with, kaleidoscope of emotions delving into personality traits you didn’t know existed but wish you had so you could understand that flick of the wrist that much better, secrets screaming through quiet whispers down the channels of her ears when she swallows truth like a multivitamin, filling her body up with things like horoscopes and music and the constant thought of an inevitable end

you like her sort of mystery, like her dark eyes because they remind you of the peaceful nights you had back home, her dark hair because it reminds you of the way nature somehow decided to bless her with those Balkan genes once again, hollowed out vegetables becoming instruments and cold soups becoming delicacies, you’ve never had it so good

dance to melodies only the winds of the mountains know, sing to songs only the shepherds might hear, grab her by the hips and sing and dance and take that hand of hers and kiss that tired wrist just so she can lift it again and hug you so as if to say thank you, thank you for staying whole up until now, thank you for finding me