Beauty becomes her

Shades of beauty whisper  
in the most wretched of places.
I see it in the streetlights casting rainbows  
upon corrupt, back alley puddles.
 
Love is born there, in the dark.
It is the passion seen
in the eyes of a broken woman
as she turns them on you  
like a loaded gun.  
 
She is concrete wildflowers,
desperately reaching for an illicit sun.
And like a somber tear  
that never left her palid cheek,  
one day she will be beautiful.