Rose flushed cheeks, framed by corn silk hair
A maiden with storm-forrest eyes.
Tongue like wildfire, sharp and quick.
Darling of the moon, lover of her sun.
Sweet soul child, so gentle the mother
Sappho would weep to know her.
She is the colour of the sky,
A cat's purr beneath your fingers.
Never has the word soulmate applied more
Than to her and her lover.
.
.
.
A true angel baby
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Her
PoetryHer. She is the first girl that stole your breath and broke your heart. She is the girl at the bookstore humming to herself in the aisles. She is the girl who inked poetry into the margines of her notebooks. She is each girl you fall for, each gi...
