Rare Beauty.

His rare beauty impends my
contemplating muse and
my eloquent words suddenly
sabotage themselves
in slurs and stutters. It’s the
twinkle in his eyes, like a sunset 
reflecting over a transparent,
muddy mass of water that
captures my soul in a alluring,
blissful aura. It’s the way
he seductively slithers his tongue
over his lips that makes impeccable
thoughts turn impure and un-lady like.
It’s the way he profoundly ceases
 his hands over my rusty, conspicuous
scars and violet bruises as if my
skin is made of silk and velvet.
It’s the way he enjoys sitting in a
room of silence, not feeling the
responsibility to fill it with frivolous
acts of entertainment or words.
It’s the way he embraces me in his 
angelic arms, as if he himself is going
to fly us into the Heavens with all 
the Angels and Saints. He is like
no other man in humanity. He is
 indeed a rare beauty.