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Dec 2018
Don’t you just want to hold him close to you? Or is it only me?
Look at those eyes, as bright as a polished diamond brightening the finger of an awaiting bride.  
You can’t look at them twice.
Holy God! when I thought there was no perfection.  
Well mark these words, “he is perfect”.
If looks could be a symbol of heroism,
gift him the warrior’s lantern for he descends as a hero.

The beautiful smile drawing your lips into a curvy appreciating grin.  
A man in a goddess ensemble.
My eyes are heavenly blessed to behold such a testament.
Oh! That amazing voice, let he sing me amazing grace and I will amazingly be graceful.
Beautiful perfect lips moving from side to side whilst he speaks.  
The voice, violently drawing you down your knees.

Oh, sweet heavens, why curses with a saint of looks?
There exist no ounces of perfection enough to deserve his glorious presence.
And a gentleman too, goddess of my ancestors, what great temptation.  

Permit me to do nothing but sit to watch him speak.  
Perfection, the being brought to tempt my honour.
Daydreaming the movements and triggers tingling inside my untamed structure.
Reminiscing on what could, would and want with no sense of shame nor control.
My eyes dazzling without shame nor guilt.
Mesmerised and tempted to act in accordance to this electric pull.

Oh my God!!!, My alarm goes off, please tell me it’s not a dream.
I wrote this poem at the age of 16.  That's a pretty long time ago. Of course, due to maturity,  I have had to update it but I still get the same buzz.  Enjoy!!!
Monica Sarpong
Written by
Monica Sarpong  29/F/United Kingdom
(29/F/United Kingdom)   
155
 
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