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James M Boyer Feb 2011
Like petals from the flower bloomed
her smile wades
as eyes consume
the personification of beauty...
of which every angel longs
but could never hope to be
because their wings are over encumbered
by the burden of our wrongs.

Shadows cast upon the face
of the ever-blazing sun
top rung being...
of the evolution sprung...
proof of natural selection
is the breath that leaves her lungs.

hour glassed and figurine(d)
are the angles of her curves
parabolas that round just right,
i wish they'd never end,
penned in shape with permanency
nerves twist and wined to lips
that trade kiss with me like currency.

Her soul peers out through her iris
desirous to capture this moment.

because this moment will last forever...
universally content
lips bent & crease at both corners
when i rest my hands upon her hips.
and treat each passing glance as the priceless...
the priceless gift of knowing bliss.
Written February 4th, 2011- From Through Our Hands We Speak From The Heart
James M Boyer Dec 2010
perfect little lines of symmetry
paint the curves onto your face
the dimples dip & peak a smile
canvassed iconicly in place.
It's hard to describe such beauty
compared more closely to the stars
an everlasting glisten - twinkles -
before your laughter starts.

the elegance and poise of a goddess
            - personified by form -
the greats would be enamored by
your eyes - angelically adorned.
Heaven bends it's will, slightly
conforming to your mere presence.
With the greatest care you mold was cast
to give you every aspect of divine essence.
written December 24th, 2010- From Through Our Hands We Speak From The Heart
James M Boyer Dec 2010
Morning rays creep through curtains
to disturb the slumber that I seek
bright & early, surely certain
to start off ruined for the week.
Yawn & stretch, then wipe my eyes
of the sleep that crusts the lids
check the time with a blurry sigh
today’s another day to live.

Start off slow with little function
in need of a smoke & some caffeine
Camel plus coffee's consumption
eases the vices that I fiend.
The chill outside engulfs me
and lets me see my breath
if I could know what the wind can see
I'd win this battle over death.

I'd curse every glint of morning sun
and let him know he's met his maker
it's a future tense, but I have won
the "givers" met the "taker."
written November 30th 2010- From Through Our Hands We Speak From The Heart
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