If beauty is only skin deep…
then you must allow me to skin…deep…
separate the fleshes from the faces…
then let these women… speak.

Love them…
Hug them…
then weep…
as mammaries drop to floor…
and same for the end cheeks.

No more eye candy…
I sigh blandly…
as my candy…
no longer in reach.

Stripped of everything we men teach…
the value of their skin…deep…
from beneath my skin seeps….
a desire that has always been…chic.

I see her…
I want to meet her…

then…

I’m in love with her…
I know I need her.

This all occurs of course…
before me and she become speakers…

because she is visually stunning…
if I can visualize nothing…
then what prevents me from leaving…
and entices me into coming?

Before I can look beyond the outer casings…
the clothing…physique…and powdered facings…
to be willing to take her soul on vacation…
I must give my sole interpretation…

of the first glance and…
what I was chasing…
and its affect on further relations.
Only then can I determine…

whether or not…
our trains of thought…
are leaving the same station.

After all of this…
beauty still fades…
or does it really?
Do we just grow tired and weary…
of trying to define it clearly?

I keep telling myself she’s old…
but I can decline to hear me.

In fact…

this is just a beauteous rhyme…
.
.
.
.
in theory.