In her white hands; cupped-

A rumpled bolt of fabric,

Fallen like dark leaves.

In the folds I see

A million midnight blossoms,

Nostalgic velvet

On which dark waves crest

A pale nest; alabaster,

White obsidian,

A lovely heart shape,

Nestling the most delicate

Of fluttering birds.

It's pure, sweet, lovely.

Contained only by your pale,

Smooth, wonderful hands,

Unblemished by weather.

And it's beautiful. And so,

You show me that life,

It's beautiful.

And your heart can only be

Beautiful as well.