Who would have thought that perfection was palpable.
Angel speck-less, man can touch, unbelievable!
Beauty wrapped in flesh, the panacea to man’s
sore heart is found. I can see her. I truly can!
God’s paradigm for creation of women does live.
Her hips are perfect, and her breast substantive,
Tantalizing men, young, and old, to taste of her,
But of the blood of Mary, she is a flower
Uncut, and her nectar is saved for one bee, who
She will wed and become his queen, he - her lord. True
Virtue that transcends into the ethereal. Touch
From heaven, on earth. To whom Herculean much
Efforts were made, where men genuflect in request
To be her lord. But tame, they cannot this lioness
For her heart is unto her like her children.
And I am truly blessed to have her as my friend.
But masked within me are hidden secrets of love -
Undying - for her: my Mona Lisa, above
All other she is to me. So kneeling I pray
That her heart would open to us someday.
Until then, I wait with closed palms, relishing her
All - hoping that I am the bee for this flower.
Then she would be my queen. Now till that moment,
I will be hers to have, and forever.