A whole new species, she was.
A specimen of its own, breaking rhyme.
One that anyone would fight to be near, no spike on the stem.
No oxygen where she comes from, not just mind blowing, but worlds would fall for her.
I am no other to these.
While she may have no rhythm, her own tune, all around her the pattern follows; she is the one.
Uninterested, the enchanted one was.
Not to be defined by the terms 'flower', or 'plant', as the bloom was truly, unique, otherworldly.
She was beautiful, everesent, extraordinary, and she treated those in kind.
She did not deserve the battles she faced, however she still fought against them; the war was her own.
While pleasant and positive, she was just out of range.
And while I may be the closest, I would have to pass a million stars to get close to where I need - no, want, to be.
For she rises above them, galaxies and universes afar.
Forever out of my grasp.
She tells her tales to many, not one can resist the charm she laid. Even so they might not have the dream to reach, to grasp, they still fall wonderfully ill under her spell.
It was no sickness, but a beauty.
No planet nor astroid nor moon nor sun could make my love for her.
Forever, I will reach, but never land.
