Aesthetic

You turned over on to your left side, as lies a fetus  
There painted before me are your contours  
exposing resplendent hints of your hourglass  
   
The subject being framed by your coarsely flowing  
Asian hair, and by the entire back of your right arm  
Other supporting elements spoke from your  
benevolent and delicate palm and fingers    
   
There is a single spaghetti strap from your negligee  
laying diagonally, aimlessly over your olive skin  
pretending to support one of your melons    
Invisible to me  
   
The whole scene perfectly staged  
and posing like a Waterhouse goddess  
   
This purview has been fodder within the artist scope    
since the dawn of aesthetic sight. Yet  
it’s pristine view by this beholder of beauty  
as belonging to the one to whom my soul retreats  
becomes a single tear, and transcribed into  
this morning’s personal epiphany  
   
Let my love for you at this moment    
be rendered upon this canvas  
in the pensive hues of my feelings    
   
And let it be duly hung for every reality hence    
to look upon in museum-esque reverie    
from this day until the end of time and terrain