She simpered silver and deceptive
Swift, saccadic movements soften
Saturated struggles between juxtaposed eyelids
Slowly shimmering like something similar to saffron and salted sands
So, when first I saw you, I thought you were golden
 
Somehow, your arms spoke like sonnet and songs
Subtly silencing intuition with satin-like taction
Slicing, sanguine souls sanctimoniously
Scored, punctured heart scraps abandoned
 
And still you’re starving.