Christina

There is an elegance to how you speak, Christina, As though each word were tempered into gold, A cultivated brilliance wrapped in grace, Both luminous and gentle to behold. You move with all the quiet confidence Of sonnets written carefully by hand, A mind alive with infinite design, Yet still possessing warmth I understand. How rare it is to find both fire and thought— A heart impassioned, yet profoundly wise, To see intelligence worn beautifully Within the candor of another’s eyes. And when you laugh, the atmosphere itself Seems altered by the cadence of the sound, As though the weary architecture of the day Had briefly misplaced gravity and ground. Christina—there are people one admires, And others who entirely rearrange The expectations one once held for love By making all the ordinary strange. For you possess that most elusive art: To make profundity feel light and free, To turn mere conversation into music, And simple moments into memory. So let this poem stand as testament To all the quiet wonder you inspire— A constellation clothed in mortal form, Composed of intellect and living fire.