Her eyelashes turn into little shy rainbows when the sunlight kisses the windowpanes of her soul, & the pots of gold are the simple dimples that nestle in the quiet hues of her cheek, Like a cool evening breeze... She is. The wispy butterflies that playfully flutter within my hollow chest acknowledge her presence, their wingtips scraping my paper rib cage & knocking loose the flickering light bulb that calls itself my beating heart, So set apart... Is she, that diamonds line the inside of her thighs & i just happened to find traces of gold in the scars that saunter down her spine.