She Is Curl (Anni's 'almost' Sonnet)

Mere words are insufficient for this girl,
who wrote her name in rainbows on my heart
but I'm giving the poet thing a whirl,
I'm told in words lies the true poet's art.

Her wounds she turns into cradles for love,
she fills with light her deep caverns of grief.
Generous as dawn, blessing from above,
says she's a mirror and begs for belief.

She gives me to myself, never complains,
her true sky is a labyrinth of dreams.
Cloud like she floats by, so gently she rains
nourishing me 'til I burst at the seams.

Mere words are insufficient for this girl,
she is morning, moonshine and she is..curl.