your eyes aren’t the color of ocean’s deep blue

more of the sharp ice on a mid December’s day

your hair isn’t the shade of sky between stars

but the color of the smoke from fire you made

your skin isn’t the copy of delicate snow

rather the complexion of a white tiger that stands out from the rest

you are not the soft, delicate, creature they speak of in fairytales

but the warrior that comes to sweep you of their feet