she is soft
let her hands be like honey
what greater pleasure
than leaving things creamy
and smoother and round
than melting sharp edges
from every place that is
found
she walks in the room
and bitterness bubbles away
the air that she breathes
is as light as ballet
her touch is as gentle
as the wings of a bee
her voice is as quiet
as a sip of the sea
whether to walk in mercy and
grace
is not a question
but a feature on her face
milkiness from her eyes
leaves those that are bruised
encased in soft silk
chaos turned to calm blues
so.
it is in ink that she writes
underneath each pale glove
“the secret to softness
comes from above”
- mads
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