Her Smile

Her smile, the softly ringing bells of her laughter, the newly discovered talismans against encroaching death. The delicate light, faint but growing, that first lit and warmed her own glowing freckled skin, danced in her eyes like the sea in the summer, bounced off the glints of auburn in her hair until she seemed lighted from the inside like a lantern...and as a lantern would, drove the darkest, heaviest shadows from the corners around her. Oh...this...SHE...is what is meant by the divinity...in feminity. I see. Her face, these eyes, the heavy slope of these breasts. They are the design that completed creation and made it right. They are beauty and joy and life. The curve of this belly, the unafraid openness of this soul that invites and offers rest. It is comfort and it is peace and it is sacred. At once she is the warm home fire that draws me in and the precious marble statue, cool and pristine, blocked off, in my mind, behind proverbial velvet ropes, art, not for hands like mine to touch... Oh, but I would die of exhaustion, making her smile, keeping her laughing...and humbly watching her gentle, holy light.