They are a stranger.

Their hair falls in waves
Crashing against the shore
Of their forehead.

Their eyes smolder,
With a heat that keeps
Warmth seeping into your soul.

Their skin is canvas,
Painted with rusty dots
Highlighted by dusty skylights.

Their lips are a crescent moon,
Curving upwards
in a soft smile.

They are an essence
of beauty and
imperfection personified.

They are a stranger.