Wednesday, April 03, 2013

my muse

Clutched up when outdoors
Or let down when in;
Her tresses seldom face the pressure
Of putting up with those million grooming options.
She prefers no lip gloss that makes her lips glossy.
Nor words to sugar coat her thoughts.
She seldom mutes her eyes with eyeliner
Because her eyes mostly speak for her.
Sometimes, a dab of twilight woods
And sometimes cherry blossom;
To make the breeze our messenger.
No masquerade,
No fairness cream or blush
Only sunscreen to keep the uv rays away.
No ornaments too junky
Nor gold that’s too glittery.
Even her soles seldom feign
by posing in stilettos;
But it's always comfy in a pair of
flats, heels or peep toes.
Never draped in bright colours,
Or wrapped in camouflage.
Nothing about her is too evident
neither is it too faint.
She’s subtlety with exquisiteness
She is exquisite in being subtle.
Perhaps, that's what makes her what she is.
Perhaps, that's what makes her my muse.