The Beauty of She
She does not exist in bone and flesh but manifests herself in my evening dreams.
She is composed of the tiny broken fragments of every one of my past loves. Or flings.
Or other such lovely lusty luscious little things.
A simple touch. The way the light jumps about her chocolate diamond eyes
as that sly smile sneaks across her voluminous ruby red lipped disguise.
She has no name by which she is known yet she is known
by every name every chalice has owned.
A face full of gracefully shifting features.
Flawlessly arranged. And arranged. And arranged. And...
She is the shifting winds. The wavering tides of unobtainable form.
She is the morning mist. The rolling thunder of summer sunset storms.
She belongs to all who long to love.
An olive branch promise. Dancing death from above.
She is the unbridled joy of delirium. Met by many, yet possessed by none.
She is the one. But once found is redefined. And redefined. And redefined. And...