Mastered pieces
Making up a masterpiece..
speaking of,
That hand
her hand
and its surface
that texture
a smoothness coupling a purposeful yet vague roughness
not from labor
but produced from hairs emerging upon her surface
encapsulating her radiant warmth
protecting it from the elements
an element of her own
certainly it must have been crafted within the cosmos that could only hope to marvel at a heaven a heaven
that has a mind and eye for intrinsic value with synchronizing detail
overflowing with designs even more intricate than that of the universe
only a heaven, ripe with divine orchestration could compose such an architecturing of angelic skin
where was I when I first laid eyes upon its color
a mix of colours and the contours!
where did I go, the moment…that moment…thee moment
I placed my own hand atop hers
that fragrance took me to a different plane
it lit a thirst and a wonder like a fiery furnace so deep within and beyond my sense of what’s real
that I soon became high from inhaling its essence smell
became virtue
aura, her aura, became tattoo
ambiance, her ambiance, became a light, however distant or close, but near enough to see a way throughout darkness
encompassing with it a belief in possibility
what did I experience, ecstasy?
drifting into a world of
fantasy
tantalization
serendipity
enchantment
myth and urban legend would envy her story
because her lore
held with it, an addictive romantic fiction
all from her touch
the touching
the feeling
the capturing of her hand
its not that romance is dead
or that it is unreal
but that it is so real and yet it is rarely captured enough to be revered as something to be believed in
so after life long soughts, can only harbor assumptions of it being fantasy all the while its mystery
trailblazes journeys
seeking from it,
what lay unknown yet dreamed about
I can never forget its texture,
the grace of her feel and heat
I never washed her scent from me
I slept as her smell comforted me
breathing in deeply, reinvigorated with every chest inflation
inhaling her essence
made her too real to not dream about
and what I saw, what comforted me and blotted out the darkness of my environment was her hand for there was nothing more I needed to see
because the whole isn’t necessary in understanding the parts
the parts have their own individual attributes perfuming their own identities that only enhance the whole
the parts blaze all on their own
as proof to ‘bits’ of perfection
her hand, a mastered piece
scribing the story of a masterpiece only written in the stars
I’ve laid my eyes upon, listened to, inhaled and even felt the wonder of that story
and the only mystery I have left to my senses, is consuming the taste of her literary better the experience or better the mystery?
I’ll ponder that question for a lifetime
maybe its the unknowing that compliments intrigue
and the knowing that compliments jade
some things you just have to try
wonder versus experience
two concepts within a master’s mind a master tries to mastermind while appraising a mastered piece of a masterpiece
her hand