How alive,
the curls that form from her smoke,

it’s as if they know how short
their lives are, how quick the end comes, and they must make up for it,
like the man who found out his life

is to end early and he spends his last days doing everything he

never did but always wanted,
she breathes a force and vitality
into each citrus O.

How those rings evaporate in front of me,

leaving behind a faint taste of mint,
her ocean eyes smiling before she looks down
again and grins. Her everlasting hair,

black and blue and green,
sways like a pendulum,
back and forth, back and forth

as she rocks her head to the rhythm of the Top 40 song in the background.

A prominent energy exudes from her -

sweet and dark and heavy, full of
color. She is made of colors;

light and pale and rich and somber,
silver, seafoam, sapphire, sultry

crimson; pearl and purple, emerald and ebony;
they flow from her in rounds, changing
with each small shift in her mood -
like mercury, rising and falling

with each shift in temperature - like

Mercury, because she is from another

world, a different atmosphere
where judgment has no hold and where
everyone just exists to exist and love -
like Mercury, because she is too

smart for her own good -
like Mercury, because I have an undeniable

gravitational pull towards her.

“Can I hold your hand?” she asks,
meek and shy smile;
no hesitation, I lace my fingers around hers.

Her hand is delicate to the touch,
thin and cool.
Our eyes lock and all I can think

is, I could stay like this forever.