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Artist
In a dream, she drifted, silent and still,
With cotton-candy hair spun by will—
Fluffed like clouds in a sky of lace,
Each curl a whisper, each strand a grace.
Her eyes held stars, yet wept no night,
Bathed in pastel breath and light.
A freckled moon upon her cheek,
A language only dreamers speak.
She wore no crown but blooming air,
A halo made from thoughts laid bare.
And as she passed, the world stood shy,
A hush beneath a sugared sky.
Awake now, I chase the trace she leaves—
A portrait woven in lucid dreams.
