Plutonian Lover

She is not the definition of perfect

She is broken, defeated, worn

She cares too much about those

Who care too little

She wears her heart on her sleeve

And she says you are her world

The lights in her storm-grey eyes

Are all but out

Lit only by your love for her

You tell her she is your Aphrodite

But the words

Bounce off her skull

You tell her you love her

From her scruffy, ebony hair

Streaked with silver and blue

To the tattoos of heavenly bodies

Swirling over her own

To the very tips

Of her worn-out combat boots

But she still doesn't listen

And maybe she never will

You will always love her

You will always be hers

You will always say she's beautiful

And nothing will ever change that