Awaiting An Angel (In Tangibly Beautiful Form) Poem by Maurice Harris

Her voice; the sound an Angel would make, we'd suppose-
Where words are not merely uttered, but an ariose
Amoret without end-when she speaks, she sings;
She is an Angel surely, but we cannot see her wings.

Her eyes; what could one say about these Angel eyes:
The very vessel through which she may mesmerize
Each and all! ? No matter of resistance will ever suffice-
All shall succumb to the allure of her Empyrean entice.

She is as the ethereal wind, here for a time, then gone-
But not she-she is still here with you, as resplendent reverie,
Whether awake or asleep-at noon, or even when dawn
Breaks upon a brand new day; you are never alone-every
Aspect of her essence remains, as she is the mate for your soul;
All you lack is her-in tangibly beautiful form, to finally feel whole!