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Karen blooms like a dandelion in the cracked streets of Hell's Kitchen: delicate, determined, deep rooted.
('Dude, you should see her,' Foggy said once, less cautious than customary, 'her hair—it's like a damn halo of dandelion fluff, okay, softer than silk sheets, which you know all about, by the way, unlike me, and I'll just remind you that I'm willing to learn more—'
Matt laughed, kissed him silent, remembered the taste of dandelion leaves.)
Behind his eyes the world is on fire. Karen walks it golden, tall like a flower head, arching beneath rain, beneath kisses. She comes apart on his breath, flies in all directions like everything he could wish for, lands on earth laughing. Ineradicable, Matt thinks; and his heart cracks anyway, under the force of her fingers.