Monday, May 26, 2025

Her skin holds galaxies,

She moves as midnight

soft and sure,

with the hush of ancient rivers

and the thunder of knowing.


Her skin holds galaxies,

deep within stars

that never needed a sky

to shine so brightly.


Crowned in coils,

a living hymn to the sun’s kiss,

she walks through rooms

like that memory

bold,

unapologetically real.


Her laughter isn’t light,

it’s full and sailing,

the kind that carries stories

and electrifies the air

like a summer storm.


She is born from rhythm,

from spice, from flame,

from roots that remember

how to bloom in drought.


And when she looks at you,

you remember

what connection

was always meant

to feel like.