dark sky happiness

Tonight in her eyes I can see a dark sky happiness, a peace that is natural to her like oxygen to the earth.  She feels a perfect kind of alone, like a grain of sand swept away by the winds of her intellect, blown into a sea of a fitting uncertainty only to settle in the scariest, most beautiful parts of herself.

She builds her shaken soul like a sandcastle, she stands with a strength  won't be destroyed  by the  tide of tomorrow or fade away like a reminder of yesterday. I play with her sunshine, lay on her beaches and skip my deepest secrets like pebbles across the oceans in her eyes. I beg myself for the courage to give her something she might  believe in. I write down her wildest dreams in my soul. I scribble them poetically across the roots  of the every Burch tree that still stands in the forest of her living, breathing diary. I give them a place where they can grow old. 

I swear she bleeds the colors of  the wind for I am almost afraid of her. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks hidden agony is beautiful.What does she see when she watches the rain poor from a gray sky?  Does she cry for the homeless man who's cardboard castle is  doomed to die , or does she grab his hand and remind him how dancing could make him feel like he could fly  I wonder if the pain in her eyes is an allusion. Frightened by the very idea that her scars would be too beautiful to wish away. Afraid that she would heal faster than I could bring myself to understand. We are day and night, the latest part of night and the earliest part of the morning, separated by only seconds, a marvelous end and a beautiful beginning. I am swept up in myself until I loose myself within her  and we cry a perfect purple into the latest hours of the firefly morning.

She breathes angry like wildfire and only cries when she can do so with the majesty of the ocean. She knows she's a drop of rain, a snowflake unlike any other. I know only of her springtime dreams.She wants to nourish the grass just to watch it grow slowly. She speaks  to me as if she is far from herself, like parts of her long to be apart of something to the moon. She's the fog that sits on the horizon. The dew that caresses the grass like it's just waiting to evaporate into the weightless afternoon.She has become the mist that is cast into the atmosphere for sake of making our every encounter a hidden beautiful like the day dream stars in her dark sky evening. She is a natural mystery, I am overwhelmed with a loneliness, the wind blows and the my soul grows weary, she's two inches away and I'm not sure I could scream I love you loud enough for her to hear me.