Beauty

Fell my sight upon her form,
On her strange and graceful charm,
It bound me with its compelling claws,
As I watched, struck with awe,

'Twas a strange feel, new to my sight,
A mix of pain and delight,
For all I wanted was to watch her smile so,
But somehow I wanted more too,

Why did I so sorely to want her,
Perhaps the thought that someone could own her?
Or was it the push of an urge so great,
A compelling urge to procreate?

Unaware and desperate, I dashed for her,
Fighting men and hurdles sans fear,
Setting an eye upon the wars I won,
And another upon her form,

At long last she beckoned my soul,
Standing at her threshold,
Letting me into that heart of hers,
That heart that men all desire,

I lay there, tired and worn,
But beaming in all glee that I'd won,
For nothing more could a man want now,
Than the love of a woman he loves,

She'd fling herself onto my arms so light,
And turn heavy for me to lift,
And I'd hold her tight, yet so soft,
Sunk in the pleasure of the burden,

As I held her thus, I stopped to know,
If I truly owned it now,
The beauty I'd seen so long ago,
That charm I'd wanted to own,

I saw her now as a person I knew,
Like a friend I knew some more now,
But where in her lay that pulchritude,
That beauty that we'd all sought?

I drew her closer within our sheets,
And searched her naked depths,
I searcher her body and her mind,
And yet I could not find,
That I held that beauty, that beauty I'd sought,
For what all those wars were fought,

Not the most intimate touch,
Could reach out thus,  as I'd hoped to reach,
I dived and pounced and sought some more,
And even surrendered to what was true,

I didn't see it when I held her tight,
Nor when she gave in to my might,
I still couldn't, when she lay by my side,
And, smiling wide, lay open her naked breast,

And then I saw for then and ever,
That I could have it never,
For the beauty that'd flashed when I'd seen from afar,
Wasn't any brighter when she was near,

It lay a slave, faithful and true,
To her nimble skin and brow,

It lay, seen from beneath her skin and hair,
Across her every stroke of her,
Painted so like with a brush,
Shining with her every blush,

I saw then, beauty lay to be marvelled at,
To be enjoyed and written, and sung about,
A blessing to be joyously felt,
But never to be owned,

Beauty lies not in the eyes of the beholder,
Nor in that thing that's a joy forever,
It lies, hazy on a plane in between,
Both without me and within