She is more than can be put into words.

She is soft running water from the faucet after a burn,

A sort of comfort and safety and shelter from pain.

She is warm like the tea in your hands after shoveling snow

And will comfort you like a blanket from the dryer

Wrapped around your shoulders.

Her hair is waterfuls of perfection,

Running through my fingers and dripping on my face

Like kisses from an angel.

Her eyes put forests to shame with greens worth turning into emeralds,

Kings weeping in the presence of such an amazing site

That they could never hold and claim ownership to.

The rise and fall of her chest is in a beautiful enough rhythm,

It could rock insomniacs to sleep.

Her soul is a firey one.

She can warm you on the coldest nights,

Give you things essential to your being,

Or she can destroy you.

She could kill you from the inside out with a flick of her tongue

And that’s part of the beauty

Is the faith you can put in to her not to destroy you,

Not to wreck the life around you

But comfort you.

There is so much love inside of her waiting,

Just waiting to grasp onto the things she finds worthy

And I am privileged enough to be something she has grasped

And refused to let go.

There is so much to her being,

An absolute four dimensional

Incapable for the human mind to understand and grasp.

She is not an angel,

She is a firey being.

She is love.