12

Sunlight dances on her ivory skin,
so smooth and cool to the touch
hair so thick and wavy,
a crown in all its glory.
Eyes so perfectly shaped
the gleam that never leaves them,
a body weaving in and out
one he can truly hold onto.
Limbs so long,
lips so strong
pursed, they ache to sing.
Features sculpted without fault
beauty immune to fading
grace which withstands
the gusts that glide over
the gold crested leaves.
She's an angel,
he can see her outstretched wings
stood beneath the shedding trees.
"It's such a shame," he thinks,
"that I fell in love with one
which cannot fall as well."

How she longs to reach out,
crack the case that is her grave
embrace the lust which calls from her
rusty vessels,
and feel a fire that knows no bounds.
Lull him with soothing words,
which will tumble from the carved mouth
that teases her.
Stroke the auburn hair which bounces
so freely,
gaze into the emerald eyes which shine
so readily,
and touch the flesh that wears the scars
of life.
"Alas!" she cries,
"what is my beauty if it
can't win me a man?
I'm locked in a mere existence,
a standstill stance."


© 2009 Florence Challender