The touch, the feel,
The heat, the sweat.
A hand running along the hip,
Feeling of rose petal lips against the heart.
Dark, spiraled hair of ebony,
The golden-green hazel eyes framed so well.
The soft, pale pink lips,
Often mistaken for a cloud.
Those hazel eyes see horror and pain.
Her pale lips are lowered.
These curls hide the face of a girl.
Those who passed her over,
Who didn’t bother to look beyond her skin,
Far too self-centered to see the damage,
Unable to see the women she would become.