how sweet she might smell

She is the perfect shade of pale
blonde and very white. Her dark
lined eyes stand out against her skin,
creating mystery in contrast to perfect
teeth, thin pink lips.

Her cleavage is as expansive
as snow covered fields and invite
my eyes to wander and my mind
to wonder about the joy between
two spaces, my heart paces.

She flicks her hair like pixie dust
casting spells on those near enough
to comprehend her beauty is only
skin deep but that is enough for me
as shallow as I am I would only drown
if there is more to her than I can see.

I care not what lies beneath her skin
the depth of her intellect would only
mean conversations I could do without.
Her voice is trapped behind glass while
I sit and stare from the shadows and smoke
pretending to be interested in A Theory of
Everything.  What do philosophers know
of love and lust beyond wisdom’s front?

I would rather have toast and tea and
contemplate how sweet she might smell
compared to a rose.

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