It’d be effortless like the sun setting herself,
She’d just be, natural and luminescent,
Waves of cascading and flowing radiance,
Like the snow melted and she was left,
So warm and soft and human,
Making it hard to look and breathe,
Fascinatingly enticed like a moth to flame,
She would be chaos and destruction incarnate,
But no one would realize it,
Those little, gentle breezes,
Carnivalized into buckling winds,

One look and it’d all make sense,
Fireworks racing toward the skies ringing,
Glass shattering and making mosaics blossom,
Surges of invisible hands,
The feeling of living,
Close to death,

She’d be perfect,
So dastardly so,
That she couldn’t be real,
That’d just ruin it.