Her in Chapter 2

A montage of dreams, missed connections, lost loves, might-have-beens, and what-ifs.
Her hair is crimson and black and blonde and brown. Purple and pink and blue and green. Pixied and cropped, flowing down past her waist, scene-swooshed and dred'd, braided and pony tailed, bed head and brushed to a shine.
Her skin is freckled and golden, pale and milky white, uniformly flawless with tan lines as crisp as shadows.
Her eyes are blue electric light, candle flames reflected in bottomless pools of still amber, steel blue and sky blue, green with specks of brown, brown with specks of green, specs speckled blue and yellow, a dark brown that's almost black, blue when she's happy, green when she's sad.
Her style is bandanas scarfs and shades...hood rat, scene queen, Indian princess, gutter punk, dark priestess, flower child, highborn high-collar-popped prep, hand me down cut-offs...she's abercrombie, rue 21, concert tee, thrift store, hand made patchwork, black crushed velvet, brown leather.
The one thing that is set in stone, is when we lose our bodies to each other, I don't see the rise and fall of her hips, I don't see parted lips, or tits. I see a sunset in it's entirety. From toenails to eyebrows, I see a person who is as terrifying as she is comforting, respectful as she is arrogant, intimidating as she is humble, spiritual and irreverent.
We're in love.
The rest can wait.