This is the child without a name without a face recreating her soul every morning so thoughtful the process of putting on a being you lose your mind to the screaming of doves clear in your eyes of the angels hot breath upon your back and through her smile you find a world of ice and deciet when you lost those precious red heels of yours one night with your very last gift of the magic you grew in your nose that you lose when you sneeze upon the books of hers you once loved and the kind of looks your parents once shared. It's a wonder she's still at your doorstep.