Her Mouth Full of Dawn

Oh, how the heavens must envy

the way she wears the light—

not borrowed, not given,

but born from within,

a slow-burning sun wrapped in skin.

Her laughter—a melody

that makes the stars pause,

leaning closer, just to hear

how joy sounds when it spills

from a soul so bright.

Even the moon stutters in its path,

halting mid-sky to admire

the way she moves—

not like a dream, but like the dawn,

inevitable, breathtaking,

painting the world in gold.

Behold her—

not with eyes, but with wonder,

for she is the kind of beautiful

that rewrites the meaning of light.