Clair de Lune
Class
Laughing lines
Gray curly hair
And fresh warm, wet brand new air
Bluest eyes
Greenest eyes
A dash of gold
Beauty taught in one life
Fantasy blues
Silver watches
And lavender skews
Her laugh is a muse
Northern heart
She is art.
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Born of angels
rapped in Charlie’s shingles
hair of gold
even Venus could not be so bold
rather Psyche herself
an Oak tree in health
eyes deeper than hell itself
majestic like a lion
but brighter than Orion’s belt
she brings herself to fly
like a The Bali Bird of Paradise
she arises
a Phoenix in her ashes
a nebula exploding
her walk implodes
she is recherché.