One garment, or shoe, or anything new, bubbles over;
New songs ‘n sunsets light her canvas like joyous fireworks.
Thoughts simmer and pop in her like a palette mix of primary colors.

She would always surprise me as if to tell me “Just you wait and see!”
I imagined her like molten metal still soft and malleable,
still rebelling against time’s cooling breeze.

She is a hot mess of desires tempered by wisdom’s quenching fire.
Doused in learning oil, she sizzles and snaps in a hardening process,
Slowly gaining graceful chemistry, and balanced symmetry.

Her tongue is sharper than a Spatha.
Her voice is smoother than a perl.
Her giggles are indiscriminate arrows!

There are always ferric friends flowing in her wake;
Her edie currents swirl excited with admiration shards.
Yet, she repels some poor metal bits with opposing polarity.

She is a magnetic attraction, and a chemical reaction!
She is more than base or acid, more like both combined.
She is not confined to either gas, liquid, or solid her forms.

There are no answers like my high school science lab.
No single element or isotope defines her atomic mass;
My periodic table’s missing the substance of her matter.

Art history class failed to equip me with her vocabulary;
Her shape is more than cubic, more than realism.
There is no single era, artist, or genre I can reference.

She would laugh at this feeble artistic description,
Those eyes would say, “You’re crazy and still not even close.”
Maybe I just haven’t figured out her style of art, but I’m just guessing.

Then again, some of the best masters took their time to lovingly refine.

Perhaps… she is a great masterpiece in progress,
An oil on easel, or pigment in water, a mess of tile shards!
There’s a maker’s touch, a chemical explosion… paint dripping off the walls.