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Body Language (part One)

Windows to which my souls steps

Basking in its lasting gaze, lost in this paradise of beauty

Dark pupils that sparkle as gem stones

Surrounding this scope

With amazement; which, mortals cannot cope

Of excitement: the amusement of passions

Sights, of sensations

Beauty which I cannot behold

Maybe I am not bold

Because its spreads this dazzling gaze

That opens a maze

Into which I stay confined

A prisoner of light, restrained

Rounded up with borderlines

Vivid depiction the essence of con-struct-lines

The words which she speaks soften the hearts

Engulfs the ears with inspiration; into the central parts

A time machine taking me back through space

The quantum physical continuum of axioms pace

These lips carry me to a place of timeless joy

Her voice keeps me time bound in her ploy

In which passions, divides affections

The lofty floats of ecstasy

Reducing fantasy

Remedying the lost years

With words wonderful cheers

Dips of blessing lazing upon radiance

Rounded frames structure with trend-less gradient

The perfection of a master craftsman accolade

Holding the smile which revives, dead hopes

Of broken hearted loops, from troubles slopes

Igniting the powerful flames

Lighting the gloomy lanes

Sweet aroma; scented melons

The unmistakable fragrance; fresh willows

Applied in natural essence

The stormy billows

Of passion; a melancholic swing

That holds the seasons in ceaseless sway

Falling from the head; woolen curly dread

Strings of dark chords that plays chorus of emotions

Rooted in place stretching it strides as a gazelle

Like the orchards along the hillside

It lines her forehead with straits which make unique synergy with her brows

Each lock patterned as if it's the sand dunes of the Sahara

Dark beauty a non-lye relaxing omission

Confident in the soothing touch of Shea butter

Melting its shine into the latex of wool

As the hot morning sun, shines upon it base

Proudly she carries on her duties

Covering her head with grace

Upon which her day ends the proud duty of an African woman

The dye of beauty, soaked in the deep color of nature

Seasoned and matured by times patient skill

Born into the world where skins tones are not so clear

its “Proclear”

The transformational genesis; of Michael Jacksons metamorphosis

Her skin holds no sway from it true source

The origin of Eden's tint, hued from the creator's paint brush

Covering of dark chocolate taste

Swiss masters' delight lays abound

Upon skin carefully treated with Mother Nature's select oils

Brewed from the earthen pots of ancient recipes

Fingers dip into its lukewarm liquid

As hands robe upon Gods' own dye of beauty; the African Woman

Distilled from the very source of beauty

Ardor that keeps the African woman in an everlasting royalty

Queen that stand beyond the doors of her peers

Makes declarations that speaks volumes

Because her steps are ordained by God

Her language to which she speaks

Are the ancient glyphic coding

Not written on the scared wall of pharaohs pyramids

Nor in the ancient text of Chinese calligraphy

They cannot be found in the archaeologist pages

It did not take millenniums to master

The African woman was born

In Body language perfection 1

by Henry A. Addy

 Posted by: Henry

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