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Body Language (part One)
Eyes
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
Lips
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
Chic
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
Hair
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
Skin
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
Bridge
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
Author: Henry A. Addy
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