To Name a Lily

To Name a Lily The lily. My Lily, is a situational paradox. Before me she sits; stationary but vivid with the promise of the day. Her eyes are deep centered brown that are not unlike a pool of melted bittersweet dark chocolate. Her gaze is light but unwavering, questioning, and alive. She is tall but unsteady within herself. Her self image is a tower of cards that will fall and crumble with the slightest bit of shock. Her frame is thin and slender with just the right amount of curve that makes up her stem. Like a lily what makes her unique spreads out from within. At my feet she blooms and rises with excitement at the sight of me. She is the embodiment of what nature should and should not be. Her roots are weak but her "petals" radiate a sense of originality. She has the hands of a nurturer, a pacifist, and most importantly a lover. Her fingers are long and skinny and they sway and dance and float on currents of air that only she can feel. Her palms are leaves in the wind of her imagination that can only be defined as graceful and elegant. Her singing, impossibly tough, broken heart is that entirely original touch of spilled Crimson on a canvas of white. The lily represents humility and devotion and so does mine.