He once knew
a woman who made
every room
she entered
a work of art.
Her sentences
pronounced
like calligraphy,
pure as plums.
Her walk an
aphrodisiacal promise
of terpsichorean
delights.
Her laughter
a paint brush
deftly caressing
the atmosphere.
Her body a unicorn
every man dreamed
of hunting, but
feared to possess.
When she left
a room it was
transformed.
She should have
signed the walls
and left a mark
on the masterpiece
of herself.

~mce