Beholding beauty's force rings inner bells.
Its touch forever changes everyday's
vanilla into bliss. A thousand Hells
await that thug whose treachery betrays
another being's artless vestal grace.
The sparkling shock of disbelief that rocks
the brain when it beholds a perfect face,
has roots beyond this earth. One's soul unlocks
an amulet and briefly breathes the airs
of home. Those whom the fates bestowed high lines
of grace and symetery, themselves are heirs
to "gotcha" traps and bouncing turd bomb mines
that smudge us all. A quiet noble mien
within should nod, as if it saw a queen.