Rapture in the Eyes
Beauty out in space all alone,
confined to her modest abode,
her talons fixed to the flooring,
her gilded wings glued to her side,
living in a room too small,
with dreams of
soaring through the skies,
to be seen in all her glory,
her glowing wings outshining the stars,
to be captured by enraptured eyes
of discerning value,
that see her as she really is,
to pass her down through the
corridors to the gates of the heart,
the receptacle of the rapture,
the spirit embraced,
the nectar tasted,
the landing of the angels,
the love passed through the channels,
the massaging of the senses,
the rousing of the quiescent,
the capturing of the dreams
of the beauty breaking loose
from her confinement.
So off she goes
through the stillness of the air
in her proud flaunting
with her gilded wings outstretched,
her heart belonging to her beholder,
destined for his eyes to see her
and his senses to be enraptured,
his moment to be anointed by her,
his self to be revitalized,
his spirit to be a mirror of her spirit,
and her spirit to remain in his keeping.
Such are the intentions of beauty
And the flight of the beauteous one,

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