The Nature of Beauty

Fragrances,
the decalcomania of elegant flowers
pressed upon our olfaction.
Butterflies,
flowers in motion,
their delicate imprints drifting in the air.
Bees,
their essence etched upon our palates,
another garden blooming in delight.

Something as fair as flowers
reflects fascination
upon every surface she graces.

Beauty
always mirrors beauty.
It is not in the eyes of the beholder—
it is her,
discovered through every sense.
Beauty exists,
tangible or not.

The beholder’s gaze only calls forth the performer—
the star, the inner diamond, the inner demon—
not one that needs to shine,
but one that, when reflected,
shatters glass into spectrums,
fracturing light into its quintessence.

Oh, the marriage of diamonds and shine,
the echo of an oasis in the mirage of motion,
sheer, pure,
where freedom is neither weighed nor measured,
but simply is.