I have sought answers to the query what makes a person perfectly sightly, yet have not I found it.

Is it in the curl of his hair, or the warmth in her stare?
The touch of her skin as she lays bare?

Or is it in the hue of his eyes - deep sea blue? Or the beating of her heart, as if on cue?

Is it in the lines of his jaw, or that perfectly white teeth? The blush on her cheeks or the rise of her chest as she breathes?

I know not if it is in the grace of her gait, nor if it is her weight. Or his broad shoulders or the size of his feet.

Is it in the lobes of his ear? Or her view in rear? Is it in the curves of her waist, or his abdomenals like hills? The complexion of his arms? Or her hug that warms?

Is beauty in the arch of her back or the contour of her *******? Or his suit and tie and his Sunday's best?

Does it have anything to do with the fragrance he wears - warm and woody? Or is it in her pair of sneakers and a hoodie?

Can it be found in the protrusion of her clavicles or the density of his brows? Or in the depth of his voice? The color of her toes?

Is it in the ball that he plays or the gentleness of her face? Ah! How can someone be so angelic in demeanor?

     It isn't clear to me if splendor in countenance can really be found. Should not it rather be felt? Or should it be perceived through sight?

     One is beautiful because people say she is. But beauty could be forfeited at the thought of the beholder that she isn't.

     Does one tell himself that he is as Adonis in loveliness when he looks in the mirror? Or does he say he is like Hephaestus in visage?

     Is beauty defined in the standard: dark hair, appealing stare;
aligned teeth, sharp nose;
tan skin, shaved brows;
waxed legs, hefty breast;
mild touch, sweet caress;
cheeks sans freckles, six feet tall;
flamboyant voice, and foxy lips?
What about molls and vagrant rips?

     To say one is grotesque - is not it just in your perspective? And to say one is gorgeous - what is your basis?

Is it her beautiful locks? --but she is a ****--
Or the emerald windows of his soul? --but he is a criminal--
Does beauty still nest on them?

     I say the efficacy to arouse fascination is not found in the facade of a person, rather found somewhere more profound.

     To put beauty in the way that it is in the eyes of the beholder is quite narcissistic, but let people fancy you not for the sightliness of your face, but the goodness of your soul, though it is heir to sin; the mercy in your eyes, not its color; the care in your touch, not its balminess. Because the only thing that is undying and immortal is not your cast but the heart.

its the fear of being understood,
that welcomes dread.

its the shadows of doubt,
that fuels the inevitable regret,
which burns away of what could be.

flames that scorch,
instead of balminess.

until it becomes futile,  
of being fully realized,
with a whole 'nother.

I want to experience winter in its most beautiful phase,
I want to feel the coldness that it brings,
But of course, I cannot stand the bite of every icy snow,
Then I realized I want to spend it with you,
Where the warmth of your hands will equally fit with every chill.
Where your arms will lock me with so much balminess that I don’t even have to say a thing.
You will fill me with kisses that I usually want.
You will never let go of my hand.
You and me and the winter, will bind as one.

In the dim, I fumble for a spark
A fleck, a flame
But there is no light as luminous
Not here

Fondly, I relive the glower of orange
The flash of gorgeous, burning whites
The balminess as I am against it

If only you could see my smile in the dull of this haze
As I warm myself with these thoughts
Distant is your bellicose light
The light I left burning

What do I remember of the day?

I remember waking early
To pray for one hour

Hanging clean white sheets on the washing line
And watching them sway in a gentle breeze

The taste of fresh cut melon
Decorated with natural yoghurt

My daughter’s patience
As she teaches me new dance moves

I remember the pink haziness of the sky
And the full balminess of the Spring air

The softness of my cat’s fur
And the comfort of my wife’s voice

I remember

That I am human and that I have life
And with that I have death

I remember the smiling faces of my work colleagues
And cheerful songs of the morning birds

These are the things that I remember
As I prepare to sleep

And they are all treasures
Of the day