She Is

To put this quite simply, I don’t really think she understands everything that she is to me.

She doesn’t really pay attention, and trying to tell her in person never really goes that well, because, well, for every tale to tell, sometimes the brain won’t tell, leaving you behind, living life behind but I refuse to be the tail. Life is short, so if I have an unexpected farewell, at least she knows. So here it goes.

See, to me, she is beauty, epitomized by her radiant stare, connected to a nose that only breathes convulsions of pure bliss, a smile of rhapsody that almost touches her ears as her cheekbones show the essence of her vigor

See, to me, she is rhythm, a seamlessly encapsulated pendulum of motion in her stride, elegant portrayals of royalty, she dances in a trance of mystifying stupor, a rhythm only paralleled by the rhythm of her heartbeat I feel as she lays upon me

See, to me, she is sweetness, a perfect calibration of taste and flavor so that when her lips meet mine, my sugar rush is only alleviated by an overdose of her glucose, turning me comatose until I awake from my coma and want more

See, to me, she is passion, unbridled and unequivocal to her nay sayers, and never does it anger her, she only says “Hey, see you later” because she is trying to please her Maker. Independent free thinking free flowing excellence, invigorated not by the love of the world, but the people of the world

See, to me, she is love, pinpoint, piercing, infinitely exponentially grand yet specifically and carefully allocated, ruthless yet gentle, carefree yet focused, heartwarming and heartlifting, practical yet fantastical, eye opening, soul opening, opening all doors I locked to delay an entrance, shifting the time continuum from forever to the length of a simple man’s life, so that in everything, she is everything.

She is the manifestation of my gift from God. And with all that she is, I am.

Virgenal Owens the Poet

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