you've got Astaire in your shoes and Tchaikovsky in your fingers.
you walk like a stream of dripping satin
each movement purring with your smooth bravado.
your ebony locks are woven by the gods
and your rouge lips sculpted by angels.
your skin is like ivory,
polished to a luminescent lustre
and your eyes the colour of molten selenium,
heavily lidded to hush the secrets they hold.
it's impossible not to relish in your radiance,
this heavenly structure of ethereal beauty.
each footstep releases another pulse of your dominating aura.
your presence is euphoric, and you are heaven sent.
