I once met a girl in Paris, a local
She accidentally brushed the injury on my elbow.
When I looked threateningly, all she did was smile
She was beautiful, that girl
And not in the way that beauty is conventionally defined.
She did not have full lips or arched brows or rounded *******.
She was skinny and pale and her cheeks were hollow.
She was beautiful.
Her smile was beautiful.
In the way that lovers hold hands
In the way the first rains dampen the earth
In the way the sun sets in the orange sky
She was beautiful.
Her smile was beautiful.

Its been four years that I've met her and I still find myself writing poems about the way she smiled