Your skin is stained glass,
all different colors.
Where one vibrant red ends,
a shining yellow begins.

You are not broken, shattered on the floor,
but rather,
separate pieces of stained glass,
set separate to behold;

apart they are meaningless beauty,
together they are fruitful art.

A stained glass soul,
where art blooms at the color of her skin,
and realities blinding light
becomes diluted imagery
once more.