She Breaks

She breaks windows in folly
and dances in glass,
not the least bit afraid 
of the blood between her toes.

And I cant keep my eyes off of her. 

I catch her in parentheticals 
always around midnight
she knows i'm watching,
only sometimes she cares.

I wonder if she knows how beautiful I think she is.

She skips by
taking little time to wipe
the tears from my eyes,
she knows I find her special.

I write endless poems about her.

She is more than the wolf
mocking the sheep,
she is everything in her world,
a paintbrush without the paint.

And I wish it were different.

I would carry the glass
home in buckets
to fill the tub; 
keep her close,
or pretend to.

She gives me passion
if not love,
and I guess that will have to be enough.

Though I don't want it to be.