Her

The sultry scent of perfume on soft skin and

fair hair the flows down her back and gathers at her waist.

She is the aphorism of beauty. 

Her lips, so full and flushed red.

Her cheeks, soft, the subtle blush beams through fair, white flesh.

Legs, so elegant, she glides.

Fingers, slim, long nails perfectly painted a bright scarlet.

Red jewels outline the contours of her body,

Her neck laced with rubies and gold.

Her waist, perfectly sculpted, with soft indents 

Hair travelling south from her sternum, down as the valley through her chest, 

down her stomach and pools at her navel.

Small feet, with soft bridges.

Only fabrics of cashmere and silk  are worthy of touching her flesh.

Only fragrance of Chanel No. 5 for her skin.

Her teeth so white, snow melts in shame.

She is the epitome of perfection.

Every man lusts after her, they want her,

to lavish her with jewels, perfume, furs.

Women envy her. They want her flawless skin,

They want her perfectly sculpted hair and body.

Her exquisite tastes.

If only we realised she resides within us instead.