Your soul tastes like ginger,

on a cold crispy winter's day.

Oh, how delightful it must be

for those who have tasted its beauty.

On occasions when I catch glimpses of it,

I see gold and dark purple hazes.

Mixing together so effortlessly,

in majestically crafted dances.

I envy this occurrence, that of which

you share with them, an experience

like no other.

It must feel like satin dripping off of

warm molten sun kissed skin. Or,

of velvety chocolate bliss.

When you leave a room, it gives off

echoes of tinkling bells, children laughing,

and sweet honeybees.

Up close it sounds of, a mother dragon

protecting its young. Or off the love

of a setting sun.

The pain I feel in unlike any other,

with this unbending knowledge,

that this soul.

Your soul, the picture of compassion,

life and undeniable beauty.

Once touched by an angel's pure

white wings flecked with gold.

Painted by a master of his craft,

with earth, fire, wind and water. A

collection of swirls intertwined


Pieced together by the hand of

your one true god and the love

of a blossoming mother.

Is hopelessly untouchable to me,

this unending work of art,

that is you. Purely you.

A you that was given to another,

but for once I do not care.

As I now know that your soul,

your beautiful soul, has touched

me somehow.