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Poem

Be there a time
that flowed the aura 'neath
the breadth that holds the weight
of thee,
does beauty walks
atop your sliding granules
of trinket feet and painted nails rob few
of thee,
that once charmed
men release their girth
and loosen virtue slip through fingers
of thee,
Of famous men
or sum feminine further
first, their standing you're a standby is a curse
of thee,
appointed overseer
these belittle that tither
the wind to contest and forfeit no choice
of thee,
stems petalled vibrant
fluttering liken grains 'neath
pursues to escape yet yours are a part
of thee,
alluring crafts their will
whereas remotely the aloof eyes
risks furtherance out and pivot some way
of thee,
you steer their breaths
seductively complete a whiff of
ancient's potent secrecy projects the chasm
of thee,
you comprehend being alone
and of what brews lacking its realm
where time stands with no hands to a clock mocks
of thee,
the colors constant fetching
commands acclaim, award, a look-see,
and of the sky from the sun's set to rise, be the same
of thee,
free to count the exact stars
cool of the moon and the sun's heat
the four winds cast no eyes but you sway to their glory
of thee,
you are priceless 
as indifference be of no virtue or vice
the words I write of you do not go through you, but is, as it should be,
... of thee.

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