Bhaskar
12-23-2005, 03:07 AM
It is strange, the places beauty hides.
It is hidden deep within the dancer,
as she gyrates gently
slides off her shiny panties
and in practiced innocence,
winks wearily at me.
It cowers in a recess she cannot expose
to lascivious eyes.
It skulks in secret places,
motionless, through her writhing.
It is strange the places in which beauty shines.
It shines in a rotund man,
short and balding,
middle aged.
It shines through him and from him,
in all he does and says.
It radiates red from his robes.
It swims in his silent song.
It basks in the brilliance of his beam.
It dances in every step he takes.
It aches in the fullness of his bliss,
for beauty bubbles from him
like champagne from a glass
whose Holder didn't bother to say "when."
It is hidden deep within the dancer,
as she gyrates gently
slides off her shiny panties
and in practiced innocence,
winks wearily at me.
It cowers in a recess she cannot expose
to lascivious eyes.
It skulks in secret places,
motionless, through her writhing.
It is strange the places in which beauty shines.
It shines in a rotund man,
short and balding,
middle aged.
It shines through him and from him,
in all he does and says.
It radiates red from his robes.
It swims in his silent song.
It basks in the brilliance of his beam.
It dances in every step he takes.
It aches in the fullness of his bliss,
for beauty bubbles from him
like champagne from a glass
whose Holder didn't bother to say "when."