From across the way,
I could have sworn she was a Queen.
Or some reawakened Goddess
In blue jeans.
Not like the girls in the magazines,
No, her face was too real.
Freckles like constellations against her cheeks.
A laugh like a knife tinking against a champagne glass.
Her eyes, hot chocolate frosted on a cold morning.
There was something real about her,
And the way she stood,
she might as well be reaching for the stars.
Beautiful was not a word that could encapsulate her soul,
And so, as I watched from across the way,
I knew she must be Aphrodite,
Because humans could never look that way.