My Seductive Goddess of the Heaven, the fair one who may be there,
Possessing slender form, of pointed teeth, of a lower lip as red as a ripe bimba fruit,
Of a slight waist, of eyes like that of a frightened fawn,
Of a deep navel, smoothly curved inward, of a graceful and tender movement
Through the weight of hips and voluptuous breasts, a slight bend in stature,
She rises, holding her head high, revealing a delicious neck.
She is as the Creator’s first effort making a woman (or the supermost woman from the celestial workshop of God, made of stars and sky).
She is draped, robed in the scent of wild roses, wrapped in sweet aroma. Life, seen swimming in the nectar pool of her restless eyes; a thousand dawns were sleeping on her glowing face, and drowning were countless setting suns in the waves of her tresses. She is the pearl of my frothen sea. She is the water resting, surrounding me as a bed of calm. Beautiful hips, enticing smile, the assertive, complete woman of epic. A flower none have smelled, delicate as jasmine. A lotus is beautiful even in the midst of muck; the blemish on the moon despite its darkness, only highlights the moon’s lustre. Her simple bark attire only enhances the loveliness of this maiden. Indeed, what will not serve as decoration for that which is intrinsically beautiful?
Creator’s prototype of a sensual woman, slender and youthful, with pointed teeth and lips red like bimba fruit, a thin waist, and a glance like that of a startled deer. She has a deep, soft navel, a dune to sweep across, a measured gait, owing to the weight of her hips and full bosom. Her lower lip glows like a tender leaf after a shower, the moisture speaking unspoken words. Her arms are flexible stalks, and youth, a blossom bewitching, shines in all her lineaments. She has a shapely figure, imp-thin and wasp-waisted.
She had glossy skin and slender eyebrows, curving over their prize, those sensual eyes, mesmerizing, tantalizing, shadowed by velvet lashes. She had a dainty nose and shiny, halo-white teeth. Her fingernails were varnished clear and inviting for the brave and the dreamers. Her hair was molten-red or sunrise-gold, coils of leaf-brown hair. She had rapture-blue eyes, pools to gladly sink in. She had syrup-sweet lips purer than pure, silently speaking her feminine secrets. Her demeanor was that of joy personified by a soothing and whispering voice.
Her fingers long and sleep, even they require attention, he would be blessed, he who would lay hold of her smooth sweet hands. Her touch is deep, often warming, often bringing chills, all complex as her soul. Her angelic feet barely touch a grateful earth those times she does land and live among mortals. Invisible wings are places by her side, unneeded, as she soars in fact, in her thoughts and in minds of audience. She has lines of limb, arms and legs, curves drawing eyes to see and plan the routes to take if given the opportunity for touch. She has a dimpled back. Could there be an imperfection in this beauty? No, the symmetry and placement only add to the exoticism of this rare lady.
Her smiles are a dessert, a sweet dish filling the senses supreme. No food nor sight can compare. Her eyes, blinking, are glittering with rainbows and suggestions, daresay commands. She lights the nights with her countenance, she and the moonlight. Her lips are pursed as a Valentine, a welcome display. Her tears are treasures. Worlds fall, landing at her feet. Words come, slowly, distinctly, as she shows empathy and sympathy. No temporary treasures are ever needed. She is there.
The crux of it all lies within an enigmatic storyline as she surges ahead, wonderful, voluminous tales left behind, ever and ever alive.
Her hair, her airs, enhance her rare beauty. All showing is beyond imagination. Her voice is now sarcastically sweet, each cell, each call, is in itself, herself! She fumes and frets, but when it comes to understand Human minds, she is the best. A resigned and fatalistic mentality is her Achilles heel. It is her way of confronting, even if confounding, no clues given.
The fair one, who may be there, possessed of slender form, of pointed teeth, of a lower lip red as a bimba fruit, a slight waist, eyes of a frightened fawn, a deep navel smooth and shimmering, and graceful movements, locked into observer’s eyes, her fullness of lips and wondrous breasts, awesome indeed, alert and full. She is elegant as if she were the Creator’s first effort in making a woman (or as if she is the supermost woman from the heavenly workshop of God).