Through the windows of my eyes, they squint by trying to hide
The wind blows through my dark hair, and brush rose cheeks
While chills channel through the vines of blood, there,
Thriving life within every beat, beauty within every breath
Like all, yet not at all, the curtain of skin hides the movement,
the passion, the chemistry of life.
A chemistry of reactions: of hope, laughter and perspective,
bright eyes, and vocal ideas for the familar faces.
As if a warm sunrise rests on my golden-skin curtain, I twist and turn,
And flow smiling... beaming, and rising.
Yet, should it be my turn of events, that my curtains often falter
They close off the sun, and hide from the moon,
Away from paradise, they rust and yellow, uncomfort grows
and the quietness becomes clear, the beating unheard,
the dreams are put still, the curtains cease to dance.