My Mystery Woman Poem by Frank Boyd Jr

Is it the warmth of her gaze, or the brightness of her chuckle?

Is it the sun in her smile, that sends rays into my soul?

Is it the grace of her step, majestic like the swan?

Or perhaps the gentleness of her touch, always warm like the summer?

Is it the scent of her, fresh as the scent after the rain.

Fair lady, who can phanthom her, for she carries herself with absolute majesty, yet is more humble than a servant.

Her body is fashioned after a goddess, the mortal embodiement of perfection, her soul more humble than a servants’.

Into a cloud of bliss I fall, for her beauty is like a poem.

Is it in the shape of her figure, her seemingly fragile frame, her ravishing eyes, or sweet voice?

Her mystery is forever hidden from me, and spurs me on from the inside, a pity indeed.

To behold her beauty once more, I cling on to life, and the new meaning it has for she is.

Like her, I have accepted my fate, she shall forever be the standard by which all beauty is measured, and I, I shall forever be spoiled for other girls.

For after half a page of prose, I am no closer to unveiling her mystery, I shudder at the thought, yet am elated, her integrity is upheld.

Nomatter where this life meanders and takes me, she will forever be,
My Mystery Woman.

28 May 2010 - Kim, RSA
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