There was just something
so deeply enamoring,
that you could not only
see it in her existence,
but you can
feel it in her eyes
as well.
That it did not matter
what anyone
thought,
said,
or believed about them.
That all that it only mattered
was what they had-
and that was love.
There were no need
for words,
they understood each other
fluently with just one look.
And with just one look,
serenity soothed their
soul, mind, and heart.
But he-
he only saw her for how
she truly was:
Glorious, radiant, spectacular,
and absolutely perfect
because his perception
of women did not limited
his sight.
He, as a man,
understood quite well
that he had the
responsibility and duty
to assure his woman,
to make her feel,
to make her sense,
that he was not just
captivated,
but intrigued,
in her.
That he was in search
for the depth
of her inner beauty
to the point that it
overwhelmed
all her flaws,
her insecurities,
her fears,
and spark this
wild passion
within her
to want to give her
entire devotion to him.
That she could release
her mind, body and soul.
Entregarse ella misma
so passionately,
so eternally,
to just him and only him.
That she could release
all that beauty that she kept
hidden away.
To finally let someone love
her just for the way she is-
as flawed as she was,
as unattractive as she
sometimes felt,
and as unaccomplished
as she thought she was.
To believe that she had to hide
all the parts
of her that were broken,
out of fear
that someone else was
incapable of loving
what was less than perfect.
How two minds became
infixed with raw love
and tender affection.
Believing that the body
if his woman
was what God promised-
Paradise.
How it should be touched,
how it should be explored
with a rose;
his love.
Caressing her flesh
as though the rose itself
were the wing
of an angel.
He understood
how his woman
should be touched.