On Anger

Fires are easier to douse with gasoline. 

SHE

Eyes like stars that light up gloomy skies, 
She is fire to my skin on an icy cold, winter night.
Lips like a lullaby singing sweet melodies to a child,
She is peace to my soul when I am in the midst of a raging sea.
Skin as soft as petals of a freshly bloomed lily,
She is the final note to my life song's symphony.

Yet She...

She is imperfect in every sense of the word.
Flawed by heartbreaks,
beautifully broken like pieces of a stained glass window.
Damaged goods to others,
yet pure as gold from Bechuanaland to me.
And when she laughs, it gives my heart a rhythm
It makes it dance, skip, and sometimes sprint.
Did I forget to mention she is mine?

She!