Her eyes brings a hurricane that make any type of body glimpse from within
I call them stars because they light up the dark inside and out of me, but I can't even call them mine...
They light up a lot of people journey I am not "the one"
Sometimes they scream "where do I belong" because they are so intense that they cross the idea of belonging
What take us to her face, her mouth, the whole work of art itself, some people just stare because of the obvious beauty, I don't, I crossed her art I see Gogh in her eyes, gracious old Hollywood traces in her skin, picture perfect, brush strokes that I swear it seams like Leo DaVinci in her body, the whole renaissance, modernisme, romanticism all in one, all in her, at the same time.
I swear I cannot understand how such a mix of colors, textures, rainbows, books, poetry and culture can be alive at the same time as me, breathing, posing, she denied but she's art.
Sometimes I look at her and I wonder how precious would be the day that she realizes that she don't belong to chaos, she belongs and deserves to live the art and the beauty that glows every single day when she open her eyes
