Paris created her like a ceiling for
Michelangelo’s vision of vast art.
She is perfectly proportioned, as her smile
pierced arrows penetrating the meanest of hearts,
I love her.
When words cascade through the crescent
of a pen, she is brilliant, beautiful. A
gorgeous, factious soul. A creature of
creation without the worlds lasting limitations,
a delicate girl.
She speaks to angels, flies with fairies
and sores through only the bluest of skies.
Unconditional love can’t define her and
I, as she knows I would start back at zero just
to create such perfection again.
Madyson, my daughter…I love you.
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