men exalt her upon pedestals
loveliness personified
untouchable flights of imagination
as if chiseled from granite
slight parting of lips
green eyes burn into your very essence

the holy grail
beyond the vale

succulent breasts
not for the likes of us
sheerest of mauve silk outline nipple bulbs
wars fought
won and lost for right to
Helen of Troy . . . Cleopatra

goddesses glow
eyes like a doe

motivating poets with flowery words
love dominate
recreating divinity from earthly clay
to remain taciturn
in the presence of exquisiteness
quite impossible

poets pen odes
beauty bestowed

she is shimmering swan-white
she is mysterious, midnight black
she is tan as desert sand
she is brown from sun-drenched Yucatán
she is olive-cast as grapes of biblical proportions
she is kaleidoscope . . . she is female

woman, pray thee
you have the key

her cathedra reach heavenly-heights
twinkling stars like spangles around her face
caress Mona Lisa's smile
with its fascinating cryptograms
man descends into idiocy with one wanton glance
trying to impress . . . look!  no hands still they must try

we all know why
molded into perfection
writers put pen to paper for to describe
reams of paper
gallon drums of ink
scribes up the ante in adulation
they, as do the poets, write only for themselves

they dare not pen
the waiting men

through the sheen of heaven's luminosity
we observe heretofore unseen stains in her mold
cracks here . . . over there
certain parts of the lovely form
decaying, suggesting sinfulness
which only gives her the aurora woman, mortal

she wears her sins
with a wry grin

©May 28, 2018 / Jerry Pat Bolton