Full Of Grace

 Full of Grace. Hail, not hell. All burn, no ash. Her mirrors are smoke free. She's the cross to bury the past. For Her, one must fast, and not move fast. It's the crease in Her smile that makes the chase for miles all worthwhile. It's subtle, wide and mistaken for not polite even. All teeth showing She means it honestly. Pep in Her 9's, She lends a few, too kind, when the clouds shade bright the color of night, erasing any thoughts of exhausting 9 lives. Daddies Son, but not Daddies Son, plan's to stick around whether this thing between is lost or found. When the sun shines blind, She can still show you the light. When the wind decides mute, and blows all silent you can still feel the cool in Her breeze. The grip in Her fingers never leave lonely palms lonely. She's dreamy, but non fiction amongst the fiction fixated on jaded. Her ripples, calm as still lakes. Pressure burst pipes,but Her pressure on pipes burst with Pleasure.......Full of Grace. Hail, not hell. All burn, no ash. Her mirrors are smoke free.