The Gods Themselves

oh dear heaven ... how impeccant how subtly innocent and eager are you truly as oblivious as you seem? oh, I am sure of otherwise or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare - so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece? utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ... a fortuitous feast of flames for the common the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow you are pristine virtue, annotated ... you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow and envy for even the inimitable innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink) tracing an unblemished dermal landscape that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination you exude a connate allure, inexplicable enchanting even the stars - sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement saucy, exposed hips tossed with coy yet libidinous intent their immaculate and fluid rhythm catching in chests like a cardiac event pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy (and not returning without discerned effort) every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo stupefying all within your affect ... a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo adding to the sassy attitude eyes, pure white arctic spheres with polished onyx centers set to possess the soul, should they find your focus faultless, blue-white smile framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ... oh dear heaven such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours the gods themselves are sobbing ... the gods themselves.