You are woth the sum of two moons and three hundred nintey-seven crystalline stars.(you outshine everything, everything, everything)
You are buitiful, like a fallen agel with tattered wings and a shipwreck smile, and your halo is woven from strands of golden smiles and love.
You are damaged, maybe, but through your cracks and bruises shine a glow that's worth the hurt, seeping through your fractures like the ocher-eyed sun,
the silver-threaded rain,
the sunset-spattered sky.
You speak of translucent drams and strawberry skies and black-and-blue fingertips pressed to forlorn skin. To you, I can say,"I love you" and I'll always mean it (love isn't a strong enough word)