She's a porcelain witch of the aesthetic niche
An enigma of pulchritude,
Mentally and emotionally
The sky is her attitude

Her motives are obfuscated
By clouds, where Elysium lays,
Her attitudes shift with winds
Unseen by us, like buried lies

Filtered with a voice of snow
The blanket of a bosom bloomed,
In a field of prismatic flowers
Their magnitude creates the swoon

Her maze is of amazement
Deep in its fondness and ire,
Passion swung by the sleeve
Unsure of it's own desire