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, 

Yet otherworldly. 

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. 




This poem is about: 
Our world


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