Her Kind Of Beautiful
She hid ever changing, yet playful, subtle expressions in her gaze, cues promising motion
as her curves and edges were admired by the oceans themselves.
She was the presence of a storm, each crash of a wave, was the feeling her beauty brought
to the beating heart and lonely souls of her brothers and sisters.
She had a classic style all of her own and could adorn any mantel or crown with radiance
upon her soft bronzy skins glow and her exotic curious features.
She was the kind of beautiful, you couldn’t write home about; words were simple: feeble
and the effort would promote time lost in complete admiration.
She lit fire in ones eyes with her presence and to look away was often met with confusion
then desperately chasing her bouncing figure and flowing mane.
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