My eyes.

The teardrops of the skies.

The blackness of the night.

Darkness made bright.

My lips.

The fruit of the lies.

The taste of the men.

Hunger in eyes.

My hips.

Where which they run their fingertips.

And where they place their drooling lips.

Sighs are pleasured.

My thighs.

That men faint over and girls despise.

But all their plans become just tries.

Forever.

But my mind.

Which can be so dark and still so kind.

Which becomes more complex with time.

Multi-fauceted thing.

And my heart,

warm like blood and rich like art.

Softly beating.

Within my soul

is where the beauty lies.

Not my body, heart, or loving eyes.

Within my soul

Is God.