she was the type of girl you'd see in a park,
singing to the dandelions while strumming a guitar.
she was the type of girl to fall asleep next to her guitar
on bed of grass at the bottom of a hill.
magic in her fingers, she'd press her light frame to the grass
and force the darkness from her lungs into the earth.
magic in her eyes, mistress of the night.
banisher of spirits into the vacuum of space where
the only thing promised is eternal and infinite blackness.
magic in her lips, she kissed the fallen leaves
turning them to amber hues when the seasons get too cool for her life to flourish.
magic rattling through her bones when the winter nights are cold,
harboring flowers in her veins, she’d bleed to let them live.
magic in her blood, letting it drip to the mud
turning it auburn and burgundy.
she was the magic that is life
and the beholder of all things good.
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