BEAUTIFUL
Did I ever tell you, I think you are beautiful?
Not just the run-of-the-mill kind of look,
The type that lingering eyes would steal.
But the kind that craves an artist’s book.
A beauty that pleads,
In words, in music, and in tomes unbound,
Not for the mirror, but something more.
A beauty of the mind, one profound.
The stark command of your cheekbones,
And eyes crinkling with mirth.
Your lips, the masterpiece of your physique,
Exquisite in definition, a challenge to Earth.
How they frame your shining teeth in a smile,
How the stark set touches a lover’s sighs,
Makes me wish to linger in their touch,
In their softness, their fullness, under the skies.
Your chest, your shoulders, wide in breath,
Your arms that string strength on every line.
And above all else, your skin, dark as death.
A black hole, consuming all that’s divine.
It takes not the light, reflects it not.
Instead, it drags it down in its abyss,
Hostage to your beauty, never to be forgot,
An endless darkness, a void amiss.
But sometimes, I fancy a light just underneath,
Glistening, struggling in its captive state.
Redirected within you, like a sheath,
To another realm where our dreams relate.
Your being, a canvas radiating heat,
Your soul, a beacon in the night
