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She was ethereal in her beauty.
 I always loved her of course.
 But only from a respectful distance.
 She collected glass animal's.
 I always gave her one for birthdays.
 She would kiss my cheek in thanks.
 Not the kiss I craved but a kiss.
 Her perfect French braids
 framing her lovely face.
 I fantasized unfastening them
 Slowly so her hair flowed
 Like the soft spring rain
 washing my bare skin.
 She would show me the
 Intricate color mix
 in her glass menagerie.
 But I only saw the colors
 of her hair her eyes her lips.
 When the sickness came
 Her skin became
 taught and translucent like glass.
 The weight loss 
showing her frame
 She looked more and more
 like one of her 
beloved glass collection.
 Then when we lost her
 She left her collection to me.
 But the one I wanted
 Was on a high shelf
 Beyond the clouds
 Far beyond my reach.

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