She would always surprise me as if to tell me “Just you wait and see!”
I imagined her like molten metal still hot and malleable,
still rebelling against that old time mold.

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

She is a hot mess of desires tempered by wisdom quenching fire,
Doused in blood, she sizzles and snaps in the learning process.
Is their a more graceful chemistry, more balanced symmetry?

Then there are the ferric friends who follow in her wake,
They are drawn to her currents piling up in their admiration.
She repells others who all long to change polarity.

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

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

This is not a high school science lab.
No single element or isotope defines her atomic mass;
Her forms is like a pot before the glazing, like cooling lava.

She would laugh at that scientific 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.

This isn’t even an art history class.
Her shape is more than cubic, more than realism.
There is no single era, artist, or genre I can reference.

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.