[I hate poems that rhyme]
He fell from the belly of the softest cloud
And landed gallantly at her arm
The heart in her chest never beat so loud
Never felt her face so warm
The man from the sky let his ridges go blunt
To prove he meant her no harm
But danger was undoubtedly a bet
Despite his ease and his charm
The greatest conflict ever known to the sun
Her holding the hand she’d been dealt
Is both the riskiest thing she’d ever done
And the safest she’d ever felt.
They call me Spitfire. 