the pearly whites of her eyes
shone through staggered chimney pots
nesting on rooftops
a genuine, clothed disguise
keeps me from this whirling dust
these constellations that collide
ignite sunflower eyes
and bottle caped lies
tied with a pretty, pink ribbon
that i'd use to make a cape.
she was softness, and she was grace
patchworks of weathered, stained fabric
cut out of some fairytale book
with one, boresome, missing page.