Botticelli Angel

She insisted on growing up every two weeks
on having no page left unturned
no road untravelled
no words left unsaid
and nothing
would slip through her fingers - more than once

She found daytime was fine
in small doses
Everything
in moderation
At night she could exist unnoticed
and float amidst the stars

She said, "I know there's someone out there for me
waiting for me.
If you see him
tell him I'll be late.

Tell him
I've been framed.