Sun Blemished,

Like a wrinkly flower wet from the rain,

An angel’s wish blessed upon her thin measly lips,

There is something though,

Something in her eyes the way she looks at me,

But they are shaded with the quick lower of her lids,

She’s like a an un-balanced scale,

Leaning,

Her face lights the shade of the midnight sun,

She’s brittle like a piece of paper,

Delicate and cold like snow,

I raise my brush to her nose,

Splattering some more color here and there.

She wears Gold,

Just the way a leaf spins to the ground in the autumn,

It’s singed with a burning grimace,

With the anosmatic tinge of her disgrace,

At being around,

Her hair floats about her,

Like brown fluffy goose feathers,

Ruffled just like the bird having shaken herself dry.

I watch as she waves across the street and I smile.

She’s beautiful.

However,

She doesn’t believe it