The brain is a machine

The girl with pink hair

Virtue drips upon her lips.
Her eyes cry drops of sunshine.
Her skin's like an apricot rose Faintly flushed and silky to touch.
Pink strands softer than wool.
She floats through the wind.
So free, so light.
Her breasts spread and hold the soul.
Light penetrates the center.
It bursts into a star and circles the universe.