Alas,

To capture her beauty is to enslave the wind,
To shackle its hands in fetters of iron; bind
Its feet to never whirl again, to never gust
Once more. An impossible task, yet strive I must.

See-- Beauty has gleamed and I have glanced at its face,
Leaving a charge on my behalf, to be displaced.
Responsibility to note my description,
To log my account, set in stone my inscription.
 
My lady. My muse; She embodies elegance,
Class and charm. Through the nostrils, her divine fragrance
Teases the senses. The simplistic artistry
Of her beauty could drive one wild, make one crazy.
 
But little did I understand the full extent
Of her secret façade. So cautious her intent,
Deliberate her attempt to conceal, to veil
The truth. For beneath her clothes lay the holy grail.
 
As did Aktaion, I gazed upon her bare breast,
Ingesting pleasure as she bashfully undressed.
Verily I had caught a glimpse of a goddess.
Within her dwelt virgin beauty of Artemis.
 
In that moment she unleashed her beauty upon
Me, rising fervor within me equal to dawn
Breaking. The intensity of my passion grew
With every passing second. My pounding heart flew.

My blood raced. I lost words. I uttered, “True Beauty.”
Hands sweaty. Mouth open. I stuttered. “Pure Beauty.”
I come to my senses, “Honest, sincere Beauty.”
Regain my defenses, “Spotless, pristine Beauty.”

No, I was not to be a victim of anger.
For it was not lustful glances of a stranger
Fixed upon her exposed figure. It was that of
A husband and wife; unadulterated love.

A love so deep, so passionate, it could even
Drive two lovers to an untimely death. Heaven
Surely knows Romeo's devotion to his fair,
beloved Juliet, to mine could not compare.

At first I counted it an hallucination
Of grandeur, nothing more; sweet intoxication
Of attraction; A dream from which I did not wish
To wake; childish fantasy that I deemed foolish.

Yet I indulged my inner child, delighting most
Unabashedly in my newfound vice. Engrossed
Consummately by thoughts of her breathtaking kiss,
I found myself slipping into a state of bliss.

I began concocting elaborate visions
Of ancient tales and literary allusions.
I--her suitor, her--my companion and lover.
But a puzzling truth I was soon to discover.

The aggresion with which her beauty attacked me
Caused an awakening so great I had briefly
Lost touch with reality. Until I realized
This fantasy was real. My eyes had been baptized.

That single look at her reinvented my soul.
I was new – clean – no longer tainted by the foul
Prison by which my spirit had been held captive.
This freedom seemed almost surreal, even fictive.

I listened with fresh ears; I saw with virgin eyes
A truth previously unseen. Truth which defies
Society's logic, which distorts the standards
Of the common thereby making truth seem backwards.

Twas not society’s child of beauty, rather
God’s. As Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa did gather
Fame from her simplicity, so does her beauty
Attract men effortlessly, as if her duty.

Wisdom flowed from the very fingertips of Wilde,
Placing its mark on history. Scholars, beguiled
By the inherent veracities in his prose,
Exhaust hours simply to contemplate, to suppose

:Cultivated are those who find beautiful worth
In beautiful things. Thus steadfast truth was set forth.
Yet I submit a bold admission to said truth:
Not just worth in the grand, but also the uncouth.

To think that beauty is simply found in spotless
Frames, untarnished and unmarred, is perposterous.
These standards oppressing us are mere deception.
True Beauty is conceived within imperfection.

 Fundamental qualities that make us unique,
That distinguish us as human beings, they speak
Of worth (by merely breathing) disbursed equally.
Beauty is manifested instinctually.

A nick here, a scratch there; distinctive attributes,
Which strive to squelch, to undeniably refute
Any possibility of conformity.
Beauty is birthed by individuality. 

The true nature of attraction was found within 
Subtle flaws of her shell. This blemished sheet of skin,
Piecèd together as a puzzle, included
The expanses of pure loveliness eluded.

 Fingerprints of the Creator that evaded
Me previously, I now saw clearly. Faded
Traces of lost evidence sprang to the surface
Making that ironic beauty shine from her face.

I stared into her eyes as I would a window
Through her soul. They were full and brown, with a faint glow
From the wonders she had seen; but this treacherous
World had placed its mark, making them less than lustrous.

Her immersion into academia had
Left her once radiant eyes now solemnly
 cladWith exhaustion. Yet their droopy abode
Still housed a ferocity waiting to explode.

Day and night her weary eyes sought to satisfy
Their cravings of learning and wisdom. Whether by
Novels or treatises or essays, at the sight
Of knowledge, her eyes found their revitalized light!

Attached between those eyes was her most prominent
Feature. Statuesque. Vital. The key component
For the structure of the face. Her nose was comprised
Of vast import, however slightly oversized.

Her ethnic nose was an inevitable gift,
Given by her father.  A natural--makeshift
Heirloom of sorts to remind her of the value
Of her name and to lend her heritage a clue.

For she came from a long line of free thinkers, steeped
In a history of independence. She reaped
The glory from the countless generations past
Yet would not be satisfied 'til her name surpassed. 

Searching a little farther south, my eyes arrived
At her mouth.
 Her soft, kissable lips were deprived
Of any haughty red, but instead, they displayed
A scar and a scab and an atypical trade.

She was what some would consider a connoisseur
Of conversation, besting any amateur
In volume and opinion. She jumped at the chance
For intriguing dialogue and to add her stance.

Her interjections sometimes reciprocated
A negative response, but communicated
Unwavering belief, refusing to concede
To average arguments that did not exceed.

That brazen mouth was also her primary means 
Of developing friendships. With her words she gleans
Intimate understanding of her companion,
Delving tirelessly into candid communion.

As I continued my hunt for beauty I found
On either side of her visage a pair of round
Ears hiding beneath her silky hair, yet in clear
View one could notice a sincere deep-seated fear

At the most faint, delicate touch she would succumb
To horrors of yore and unconsciously welcome
An all too familiar torment; one of daunting
Force that solicited an eternal haunting

This enfeebling phobia was wearily wrought
From blood, toil, tears, and sweat. It was an afterthought
However, in lieu of the events leading up
To the present, events that overflowed her cup.

These experiences molded her existence,
Shaped her disposition, grew her intelligence.
Her past developed her from an unseasoned girl
Into an aesthetic, sophisticated pearl.

Down her defenseless, naked body my eyes scanned,
Exploring every inch. Her skin pale and untanned.
The perfect curvature of her petite luscious
Breast, strewn with spots and moles, appeared voluptuous.

Nested beneath her ornately freckled bosom
Rested a heart as sweet as a cherry blossom
With a cadence reminiscent of Mozart's
Requiem, pulsing endless interwoven parts.

Her anxious heart broke with a burning conviction
For the homeless, the orphans and the affliction
Of the destitute. Her sincere care for mankind
Would perplex and amaze a mediocre mind.

With the unification of each select part:
Her eyes, her nose, her lips, her ears, her breast--her heart;
Her beauty transcends that of yesterday, todayAnd tomorrow.
Now there is nothing more to say. Nothing more to relay.

Nothing of which to speak.
Nothing more to do than simply observe my meek
And humble rose. To gaze upon her imperfect
Thorns and still view her beauty as fully perfect.

Only the eyes can behold the magnificence
Of what I have revealed. Alas, pomp and brilliance
Have eluded my words in this frail endeavor
To accurately detail my daedal lover.

Somewhere between my eyes and my mouth
it was lostIn translation. Reality, at best, is glossed
Over by my inadequacy to surpass
Earthly constraints
 to relay my message...