VELORA MIST

A whisper of spring in a crystal sphere,
Where grapefruit suns rise soft and clear.
Quince dew clings to petal and air,
A tender breeze of jasmine rare.

She dances light on rose-laced skies,
With musk like moonlight in her eyes.
Not bold, but radiant in her grace—
A fleeting smile, a silken trace.

She is the pause before a kiss,
A moment wrapped in fragrant bliss.
Youthful, timeless—gently spun—
A poem breathed in rays of sun