Beauty

They stand alone,
Dressed heads to toe,
In perfection,
Bows and lace,
They embrace themselves,
In fine fabrics
Embrace their faults,
And glide accross,
Guilded floors,
Persian rugs.
Hair thick,
High,
Upon their heads,
It dances,
With the windows,
Blows,
Into china faces,
Hides itself in sapphire eyes,
Or sticks to still wet lips.
But the rest follows,
Down a long spine,
And meets their bottom,
And caresses it.
This is beauty,
Perfection trapped in time.