She is ...

Tiny like my heart, she is. She can fit in every part of me, in my eyes, she lives. She rhymes when she talks. Poetry seeps from the edges of her carved lips. The morning birds that sang in the bushes were not more musical than she was. Speaking of her favorite songs, she giggles sonatas, I live in her dimples. and like to see her smile, and outshine the sun. She lifts out my ennui and colors what I see, but I only see her, I succumb to her beauty. In her tone, I hear an augury of me and my heart.