You have the luck of the Irish—
Life grants your every wish.
Balanced, always landing on your feet.
Jupiter-kissed, earthed on a Thursday.
Warm as a summer Sunday,
a sprinkle of sharp wit.
A proudly ruminating nature
A heart-shaped tattoo on your sleeve
I guess your moon aligning with my sun
Is why you left me such an impression.
Am I enlisting your perks,
or writing a confession?
I can’t seem to find the words to describe
how your eyes squint when you smile—
to you, a quirk of genetic design,
to me, a proof—a striking sign:
Lady Luck herself,
has finally taken my side!