And they cover my eyes sometimes
so all I can see is the brightness they give off,
twinkling like polished, princess cut gems
only seen on T.V.
Before, my forehead
was perpetually covered in rain clouds,
black fluff that wouldn’t budge
no matter how many times I scrubbed my face raw.
Then I became friends with someone whose hair was covered
in gleeful fire demons,
his grin as swamping as theirs
but overjoyed, not menacing.
We talked. We rambled. We talked. We rambled.
And the fire demons latched onto my own hair
as finally we kissed,
running across my brow
to settle in their original forms,
usually only seen in the night sky.