From the Perspective of A Lover

Her hair falls about her face magically,
like the soft-spoken Spring, gliding from the clouds.
Through it, she runs her fingers,
letting free a bursting sweet, flowery aroma
that fills the air around him with the smell of beauty.

She gazes. Poised, and crossed legged,
reminding him all too much of a lotus blossom.
Half here, and half.. I don't know where,
but her eyes, lost, fixated on some pretty thing somewhere,
out there in her surreal universe of fascination.

Her innocent lips. Her majestic, jeweled eyes..
only an afterthought to the gorgeous realm about her.
Of all colorful patterns, and the songs that accompany,
(she simply smiles a "thank you" when he tells her.)
He cannot help but believe that she is the envy of the muses.

Oh, and the way she does that! That thing of hers!
Knowing in the deepest sense of nature,
how life works on a spindle of woolen love.
She grasps the very meaning of it all between her fingers,
and plays with it, amused; as if it were a toy.