(Freewriting) Lament

Theres something about the way she moves, the way she smiles, the way she exists, that fails to relate to any other of her kind. It is a divine concept, this woman before me, shining over me with her essence stolen straight from heaven, and the eyes, marble green, buried so perfectly among her glowing you'd think she might be porcelain. So small and so fragile you are afraid to touch, even though through squirming gasps you die to, you would give your house and home to only give a gift to your sense of tangibility, even for a moment. Child of the lily through her own beaming, she laments, yet softly smiles and anticipates.