When she is happy
The sun is so moved by her beauty it kisses her skin into the most radiant glow I have ever seen in a person
But when she is sad
The sun weeps and her skin soaks up its molten tears creating a light so bright, even the darkest clouds can’t put it out
YOU ARE READING
Tacenda
Poetrytacenda (n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence
