The gods have smiled upon her.
Beauty wrapped inside her slight
almond shaped eyes, framed by locks of women’s envy.
Fullness of luscious lips,
stained with sweet kisses.
The shape of hours and glass that
make men forget their sensibilities.
Colliding between her thighs, thighs
of milk and honey.
The gods have truly smiled upon
her.
And that’s why they don’t really
see me.
Words of philosophy, theory,
education, and intelligence lure her senses born from her thirsty mind.
Always moving, like waves of
water, fluid; never satiated, crammed with details, indulged with revelations
from letters strung together with grace and allure.
When she opens her mouth, they
spill from those glossy lips quenching embers of fire ignited again by
conversation’s stimulation.
But the gods have smiled upon
her. Beautiful as she is.
That’s why they don’t really see
me.
Hanging shingles keep her lights
on.
Strength and struggle knocking on
her windows breed skilled determination.
Talent builds on the blind scales
of Lady Justice.
It’s the people she works
doggedly for.
Sultry eyes, pouty lips, curves
they say that withstand the aging hands of time.
The gods have smiled upon her.
That’s why they don’t really see
me.
Hollow eyes cry hollow tears creating
flashy hollow smiles in irrelevant faces, faces that see skin deep.
Flawless hues and excellent shoe
game.
Pencil skirts with matching heels
showing legs for days because that’s the most important.
Unrealized dreams hide in dark
corners of the soul hidden behind hollow eyes.
Fear of the unattained plagues
her mind.
But, why? They wonder.
For, truly, the gods have smiled
upon her.
That’s why they don’t really see
me.