Eyes deep
lashes beckoning.
A visage an intriguing exotic.
Hair, strands of long earthen silk,
tumbling carefree.

Her presence is rich and warm,
blooming conversations
of all sweet and sensitive.

She speaks in hushed rooms
between sips of jasmine tea,
listening.
Her heart beating
along with her company.

Her eyes do not glaze
in wait of conversations pause,
to turn the conversation a new corner.
She see’s the not the world
outside,
but you,
your heart,
its whispers.
All noticed in empathetic care.

Alas, her celestial eyes
appear dewed;
as she searches inward.

Here she drifts,
her blossom’s petals wilted.
Choked by her past’s grasp.
Its touch tainting
her brilliant spirit.

Though, past her paisley tears,
in her art’s voice,
beauty pierces through,
a pale yellow shine;
sorrowfully hopeful.