She was perfect at fifteen,
looked like Nancy Sinatra,
hair bending into her eyes
like some god had willed it so.
Her chin was tucked underneath
and her eyes sized me cleverly
from behind her sideswept curtain
of ashy brown hair.

She was in bloom at sixteen,
jaw like Grace Kelly
cultivating lips like half strawberries
cut up and slightly underripe.
She would gaze at me without animosity
through eyes of such pure amethyst
I felt like she was my savior.

She was my love at seventeen,
a soul like Judy Garland
making her achings to be free
too strong.
When she kissed me
I finally understood
how far "over the rainbow"
really was.